


Caught

by Jacque_le_Prince



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Asian-American Character, Bigotry & Prejudice, Biracial Character, Bisexual Female Character, Black Character(s), Butch/Femme, Childhood Friends, Coming of Age, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Friends to Lovers, Hispanic Character, Implied Sexual Content, Male Character of Color, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, POV First Person, Questioning, Slice of Life, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacque_le_Prince/pseuds/Jacque_le_Prince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is a reclusive teenager who has moved into a new apartment with her family, who, unfortunately, isn't as supporting of her life choices as they should be. In this new town, Jean has two very special people; the butch girl down the hall and the femboy at the local cafe. Little does she know just how much they will change her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How the Painting's Frame Broke

When my family saw my hair, I didn't know what I was expecting.

My father had the most exhausted look on his face that I had ever seen on a person's face. It was like he had been put through trial after trial after trial and I had just added onto that painful burden. He looked like he was on the cusp of having his back broken by the weight it was wielding.

My brother's face was twisted in the most devilish of smirks. I had already expressed my feelings about this choice to him and let him know that I had my heart set on doing this. He had been waiting for this moment all day. His blue eyes were lustful with a sadistic thirst that had increased upon awaiting the horror that would bestow upon me.

The worst reaction had to be from my mother. The anger in her expression was unimaginable. I had been dancing on her nerves for quite a long time and this only seemed to build her frustration up to a boiling point. Before I could acknowledge that she had risen from her seat, a harsh hand fell upon my cheek. It stung horribly and caused fresh tears to leak from my eyes. My ears echoed from the sound of the impact.

"How pitiful. You tried to make a statement, but you can't handle the punishment to come."

I wasn't sure if that was my mother saying those words or my own subconscious chiding itself.

* * *

"Jenny, hurry up."

I responded to my mother's voice by getting a better grip on the suitcase's weight. It wasn't as easy for me to carry it as it would be for the average teenager of my age. I struggled to catch up to the rest of my family members who where farther down the hallway.

I hated when they called me Jenny. They know I do, but when did they ever appease to my preferences?

I just barely made it up to the door our apartment when my father began fiddling with the keys.

"Tch, you wouldn't believe the attitude I got from the Jewish woman in the lobby downstairs," muttered Mama.

"Her?" questioned Daddy.

"Yeah! She thought I was trying to sneak in because I tried opening the door without ringing the buzzer. I didn't see the buzzer at first! If I had, I would've used it."

Daddy scoffed "Those Jews need to learn some people skills..."

I was with Mama when this happened. I don't blame her for not seeing the buzzer, because usually they're on the inside, but I really hated that my parents were claiming the woman was being disrespectful for correcting Mama. Though, it didn't irritate me as much as them categorizing it as typical "Jewish behavior".

As we stood in wait for Daddy to open the door, I noticed a woman approaching the door next to us. She was Asian with silky black hair in a bowl cut around her round face. The look reminded me of Minzy from 2NE1, but a little more mature. She wore a black sweat suit with a white towel slung around her neck like she had just been out jogging.

My brother responded to her arrival with a wolf whistle, something I was surprised my parents had chosen not to correct. Either that or they hadn't noticed.

The woman turned to us with her dark brown eyes, which held a look that snarked " _Really?_ "

She continued to enter her home without any care to us. I knew my brother's ego wasn't grazed in the slightest. I, on the other hand, continued to fret over whether or not the woman had seen me and would associate me with the catcall.

When we entered the apartment, it was much larger than I presumed it to be. We were told it was pretty large, enough for four people or more, but still, it was much more than I had expected. It was like a townhouse. At least that was something I could be thankful for.

"Jenny, William, you guys unpack your things for your bedrooms," said our father "We'll take care of the rest."

"'kay, Daddy." "Sure."

My brother and I answered at the same time, going our own separate ways and taking our pick of boxes in hand.

Of course, William picked his bedroom right away, leaving me with the smallest bedroom while also respecting our parents' entitlement to the largest room. It wasn't like I could make it to the bedroom I wanted before him with a box full of my stuff in my arms.

I wasn't very strong, but it wasn't something I could help. However, my parents think that I _can_ change if I work out and do more heavyweight lifting. That theory still hasn't been proven true.

I set my box on my bare mattress, which creaked under the weight. I then set my own body on the bed. Exhaustion dug into my being like the wild roots of a forest tree once my clothed body hit the bed. Even without any sheets, I still felt tired. The move had drained the energy out of me and I was really willing to take a scolding if it meant catching a little bit of sleep.

However, I caught a sight of my reflection before I could even think of that.

In the mirror was a seventeen year old. Her skin was black from her mother, but the French-Canadian in her father gave her a coffee-stained look. His hair was ginger just like his brother and father and faint freckles peppered the apples of her cheeks. The hair was cut into short golden tussles that cradled his head like a baby's hair. Originally, it had reached her small curved hips, which went along to build her petite yet curvaceous body that had not yet finished growing.

A part that couldn't be seen, however, was that the teenager in the mirror was bigender.

* * *

I woke up on my freshly made bed with a sour taste in my mouth and an excruciating emptiness in my stomach. At least I could see my perfectly set room in the dark and didn't have to wake up to any responsibility.

I reached out to turn on my lamp, only to catch a distasteful reminder that there was no lightbulb when four clicks didn't result in any illumination.

With a sigh, I swung my legs over the bed and rushed to the light switch on the other side of the room. I didn't like the ideas of darkness and an unfamiliar place being combined.

The ceiling light turned on and comfort washed over me, quickly reminding me of my hunger. I immediately left the bedroom and entered the darkened hallway.

"Mama?" I called out "Daddy?"

The moment I entered the lit up kitchen, I heard William's voice "They're out."

I turned to see him sitting at the end chair of the long dining table.

"Out? Where?" I asked.

"Mom went out to take care of some papers or whatever and Dad's picking up dinner," explained William.

I rubbed my forehead "Man, I was out for a while, huh?" I said "What time is it?"

"Like six-something," answered William.

"And when did they leave?"

William scoffed "Fuck, I don't know," I could tell he was tired of my questions, but I only asked because I wanted to know when they'd come back. I knew I couldn't stay anywhere with my brother for too long. He was always unpredictable.

I tried not to make it clear that I was worrying about that. I began to turn around as if I had something more interesting to do, but William caught me with a "Hey."

I stayed in place but inclined my head to face him "Hm?" I uttered as if I wasn't interested.

A rough hand reached out to my arm "Aren't we gonna finish up that argument from earlier?"

I could practically hear the smile in his voice and I hated it.

"What argument?" I questioned.

I heard him chortle "Well, it wasn't really an argument, but it could have been the beginning of one," he turned me around to face him and I allowed him to "I mean, you sure seemed to get heated when I told you that you can't be gay to get a job."

A grimace formed on my lips before I could stop it "That's bullshit and you know it!" I then muttered "Besides…I never said I was gay…"

"Tch, oh sure, some big CEO is gonna hire a delusional girl who says she's a boy."

William ended the statement with a good-natured laugh, but it quickly ended when my fist collided with his chest. My other hand was ready to land another hit on him, but he ceased both of my wrists and pushed against my force.

We ended up pushing against each other's hands while my rage fueled me with the will to hurt him. It wasn't easy. Although skinny, William was much stronger than me. He would be the clear victor as always, but for some reason, that fact never cut through my stubbornness. He kept that same grin on his face. This was nothing but fun and games to him, as usual.

He managed to bump me against the wall several times, once ending up in the large painting falling to the floor. Painful bruises quickly blossomed on my back from each impact.

"Shit!" I had somehow managed to lose my footing and fall on my back, William's weight smashing harshly against mine. He quickly pressed himself up, but halted on all fours to look down upon me "It's been a while since I got in a good wrestle, hasn't it?" he chuckled "You still haven't gotten any stronger."

I groaned "As if I can help that."

He then stood up, fixing his ginger hair.

After a few moments of silence, the ring of the doorbell ceased William's movements.

" _Finally,_ " I thought in relief. I was thankful my parents had showed up to put a stop to this.

William stepped away from me and approached the door.

I followed, my tastebuds awaiting the dinner my brother claimed Daddy had promised to bring. However, when William opened the door, it wasn't our parents.

There stood the figure of the Asian woman from earlier that afternoon. Although her face showed no emotion, her arms were crossed over her black sweat-shirt clad chest.

"Is everything okay here?" she asked.

My face painted with rouge humiliation. Our new neighbor's first impression of us stemmed from a physical fight that _I_ had started.

"Yeah, it's nothing to worry about," my brother then sniffed and leaned on the door frame "Sorry if we were a little too loud. Things tend to get a little rowdy when I'm around, y'know?" I grew even more disappointed at his second attempt to flirt with the woman, which, now that I had seen her closer, I could tell she was probably about the same age as my brother.

In response, the woman squinted in disgust, subtly shaking her head. I shrank when her gaze lowered onto me.

"What happened to her?" she suddenly asked, pointing at me.

It became apparent to me in that moment that my blouse had allowed the newly earned scratches on my arms to be visible.

Smoothly as ever, William responded "Ah, she just fell out of bed."

I knew I had no choice but to go along with it "Yeah, that's what made the noise."

The woman's eyes were full of suspicion that showed she didn't believe of lick of what we had told her. I winced when it came to me that jumping straight to the explanation of what had caused the noise when it wasn't even brought up was a bad move.

"Right, right…" she said "And where are your parents?"

"Gone," William then jerked a thumb in my direction "And I can get this one out of the way, too, so it can just be you and I."

I was almost shocked that the woman hadn't reached some kind of a boiling point. Though, that didn't mean she looked completely unaffected by my brother's flirtations.

Her brown eyes landed on me and stayed there for an odd amount of time. Then she said "Would you two mind if I came inside for a moment?"

William's entire demeanor seemed to have perked up upon hearing the question "Not at all," he said, opening the door wider for her to walk in.

Meanwhile, I stood flabbergasted.

" _What could have run through her mind just now?_ " I wondered.

She smoothly made her way to the living room and made herself a seat out of the couch.

My brother and I followed suit, me sitting in the chair adjacent to them as William plopped himself next to her.

To break the tense atmosphere, I said "Sorry, I would offer you a drink, but we just moved in today and our fridge is pretty barren."

"Thanks, but that's alright," she said "If anything, I should be offering my courtesy since I made a guest out of myself," I noticed she had only looked at me when she spoke "My name is Miranda."

"I'm Jean," I replied.

William instantly snorted at my introduction "Her name's Jenny," he said with a roll of his eyes "And I'm William."

Miranda seemed to ignore the end of William's remark "Jean? Jenny? Are those just shortenings of your birth name?"

"Ah, yes," I said, nervousness prickling at the back of my neck "My full name is Jeanette, but really, I like to be called Jean."

"By who? Your non-existent friends?" laughed William. He then told Miranda "We all just call her Jenny." The way he told her reminded me too much of my parents when they were explaining my behavior to a stranger, always speaking as if I wasn't there.

I couldn't stand it.

"So, like I mentioned before," said William "Jenny over here can leave so that you and I can _really_ get to know each other," he began to loop an arm around Miranda's shoulders, but she slapped it away. I noticed that it wasn't frantic like when I resisted him. It was one calm motion of her arm without any falter in the rest of her body.

"You're clearly not good at taking hints," she said in a monotoned voice "You should learn to respect women, including your sister over here."

I was shocked by her words. I had already expected her to snap at William a long time ago, but I hadn't expected her to extend her frustration to my troubles.

Meanwhile, William stared in awe. Of course, he wasn't going to let it show that much on his face, but I knew my brother well enough to read the subtle signs of his emotions.

"Heh, I'm wounded, babe!" he said.

Miranda rolled her eyes "I should've known better than to ask someone as dense as you to actually learn something."

The moment William had made his statement, I expected Miranda to leave, but her choice to stay and continue fighting back confused me. I could see she wasn't the type to take other people's shit. 

Then it hit me. 

She was staying here for _my_ sake.

She could see that William had been mistreating me and our parents weren't there to put a stop to it. She probably even assumed that the mistreatment was on a legal matter instead of just a sibling rivalry.

I know I should have been grateful, but I felt more embarrassed than anything.

Much sooner than I had expected, the door began to click open. I'm not sure how long I had been stuck in my train of thought or how long William and Miranda could have bantered for before my parents came in.

The smell of fried chicken wafted into my nostrils once Daddy stepped in with the bag of Popeye's in his hand. My mouth stung as moisture began to form inside the walls of my cheeks and I suddenly became aware again of how much my stomach had been aching for food.

"Hey guys, h--" Mama's greeting was cut short upon seeing Miranda "Oh, we have company?" her voice was caught between remaining polite while suppressing her uprising suspicion of the stranger in her house.

"Yes, sorry. I live next door," said Miranda as she stood from the couch "I just figured I could get to meet you all, but I didn't realize you two weren't home."

Mama smiled a genuine grin upon hearing the explanation "Oh, that's alright, sweetie. That's pretty nice of you to come meet us."

"Sorry that the house is still a mess," Daddy chuckled "If you want, you can stay over for dinner."

"Thanks, but I can't stay too long," she said as she began to walk out of the door "I have a major college project I should be working on right about now."

Mama, holding the door said "Oh, well, we hope to see you soon…?"

"Miranda," answered Miranda in response to the pause.

While this exchange happened, I eagerly assisted Daddy in setting the table.

Miranda had left by the time I had seated myself down and decorated my plate with chicken, biscuits and mashed potatoes.

Suddenly, the gasp of my mother caused me to choke on the first bite of chicken I had taken.

"Honey?" questioned Daddy.

"What happened to the painting?!"

Quick as a whip, William responded with a "Jenny knocked it over."

I knew I shouldn't have been surprised, but I couldn't help but scoff "You did!"

"Drop the Blame Game, you two," scolded Mama, seeming to be more irritated over our immaturity than the current state of her painting "You're too old to be acting so irresponsibly. I should be able to leave the house without having to worry about you breaking something."

I chose to reside in silence. Even though I hated the feeling of being scolded by Mama, I could at least be the tiniest bit grateful that the blame was also being shifted onto William.

Mama sat down at the table "You're not kids anymore," she continued "You shouldn't be roughhousing like that."

Again, I chose not to explain myself. I just let Mama have her moment.

My parents knew that the relationship between William and I was not a pretty sight. Typically, William would say something insulting to me, knowing that I would lose my temper and snap at him. His strategy was smart, because in the end, I would still be the person who threw the first punch, meaning that I would take a grand majority of the blame. Thankfully, over the years, my parents began to see through William's ruse. Unfortunately, they just chalk it up to "boys being boys". Secretly, I think William enjoys the fights more than he enjoys getting me in trouble. He's not dumb enough to pick fights with random people on the streets, so why not his younger sibling?

After dinner, I was the one who had to hang the painting back up. I guessed Mama left it because she wanted to serve exact justice to whoever knocked it down. However, I wasn't able to hang it up, because the frame had cracked and broken in the corner.


	2. Does that mean Minzy's Gay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this may be annoying, but for some of these characters, the dialect and slang isn't going to be the easiest to read. I'm basing this off of my own experiences as a black person in a black neighborhood. Still, I'll make sure it's readable.

I woke up feeling wrong. Of course, that was to be expected when one wakes up in a different room that still had its fresh scent of newness. I was somehow able to unpack all of my stuff the other day. So I was able to wake up to the sight of all my old stuff in this new room. However, I would soon discover that my mornings would continue the same way as they did back in our old home.

When I roamed the house, the air was still with vacancy and silence. Mama and Daddy had both gone to work. William was still sleeping well into the morning and I knew he wouldn’t get out of that bed until somewhere after noon. He was supposed to be looking for colleges to apply for, but no one would be home to nag him about it.

The only sounds that echoed in the walls of the house were my footsteps and the drops of shower water from my body as I walked past William’s room.

I closed the door behind me when I stepped into my room and looked at the mirror, immediately wondering just what I should be wearing to this new school. I had no idea what type of people I would be seeing there. What kind of atmosphere would I even be entering? Would my outfit choice even affect my experience?

I couldn’t answer any of those questions. All I could confirm was that I felt like a boy that day, meaning the first thing I would put on before anything is a binder.

I stood there, naked with the exception of the binder, looking at my body--flawed.

My family hated my body and reminded me any chance they got, which made me hate it just as much. It wasn’t a choice. It was just a fact. No matter what clothes I put on, no matter what gender I was, I was not beautiful. My ugliness was as permanent as the pigmentation of my skin and it was something I just had to live with everyday.

I put on some skinny jeans and a white vest. I decided to accent it with black sneakers and a black studded belt. I was at least thankful that all I had to do to comb my now short hair was run a hand through it a few times.

When I left the apartment, I saw Miranda walking down the opposite direction of the hallway. I wanted to say hi, but my lack of courage swallowed it down for me. I feared she would judge me for my choice of masculine clothing, since she had already seen me in feminine dress. Then again, Miranda dressed rather masculine as well. Just now, she was wearing a black T-shirt and cargo pants. Could she really stereotype me as butch when she dressed the same way?

I ultimately answered no to my own question.

* * *

I didn’t expect much when I went to the new school. Bridgewell seemed like a pretty standard high school; small in size for a public school, but kept just as nicely as the rest of the neighborhood. My classmates also weren’t as different from my last ones. They, too, were black like me. Although they were born and raised in this bustling city, they didn’t show the signs of the stereotypical black city kids. There was no gang activity or serious violence apparent. Of course, that was to be expected since Auburn was a pretty upscale city, hence, why my parents decided to uproot our family into the hot spot of the wealthy.

Like I said, a lot of my classmates were black. However, back at my old school, our student body consisted of countless diverse shades of brown. Here in Bridgewell, nearly everyone was a single dark shade, making a coffee-stain-skinned kid like myself become the object of all attention.

I overheard some kids speculate my ethnicity, one even asking me face to face what I was mixed with. Although it was a little overwhelming to have so much attention on me, I was pretty indifferent to it. I couldn’t blame them for their curiosity. It was clear the kids of this school were very singular in ethnicity. The few non-black students were either straight Chinese or Mexican. Throughout the day, I didn’t meet eyes with a single person’s face that could appear even remotely racially ambiguous.

* * *

As my day progressed, there was one pair of eyes that I couldn’t shake off. It was from this boy named Jamaal. He was tall, had the physique of a basketball player and had a wide grin. He was the first to introduce himself to me the very second I settled myself in my desk first period. He fired a lot of questions my way pretty quickly, making the conversation less than smooth. Of course my name came first, which led to the question of my ethnicity. Thirdly was my age followed by my family life and whether or not I had siblings. I answered all of these, but he never gave me any information about himself.

At lunch, Jamaal tagged me down and invited me over to his table. He said I looked lonely sitting all by myself, shooting down any excuse I had to turn down his offer.

In the end, I was advancing towards a table of intimidating athletes with booming voices.However, they didn’t talk much when I sat down with them. Rather, their bass-filled voices dropped down into minute mutters of small talk filled in by long pauses. It was as if they were holding something back from me. Whenever I looked up from my meal, one of them was either looking at me or grinning knowingly at Jamaal.

I felt like I was in for a set-up and had we not been sitting in a public school cafeteria, I would be concerned on a different level.

At some point, Jamaal cleared his throat “So, uh, Jean?” he said “You gotta boyfriend?”

I swallowed my mouthful of milk hard.

I couldn’t stand that question.

“No,” I said.

The boys around me shared a cheeky glance, some chuckles leaking from one or two of them.

I sighed and I had one of those moments. Mom calls them “annoying outbursts”. Although they are spontaneous, I wouldn’t call them annoying.

“And I don’t plan on getting one any time soon.”

After the sentence flew out of my mouth, the guys around me grew expressions of shock and amusement, one of them literally turning red in an effort not to laugh as he nudged Jamaal’s arm.

The defeated Jamaal clicked his tongue “C’mon, don’t be like that,” he said “A chick like you can’t go around without a man.”

“I can handle myself just fine without one,” I then stood up throw my food scraps away, eager to find any excuse to get away from the males.

The minute I left, a disgruntled tone snapped “Man, whatever, she’s flat-chested anyway.”

I couldn’t help the slight smirk that crept up my lips.

Once I got to the trash cans, I instantly cursed myself at the sound of another male voice address me “I see you met Jamaal.”

Without even looking up to meet the face from which the Hispanic accent came from, I said “I’m not willing to repeat my answer.”

“And I’m not willing to hit on you,” said the voice.

I looked up and was pretty surprised by what I had seen.

I knew the boy I was speaking to was another Mexican student, so his caramel skin didn’t catch me off-guard. However, his ink black hair was shaved on the sides, creating a modest mohawk. He was wearing a Black Veil Brides band T over his lanky frame, grey jeans and black vans. He literally looked like a stereotypical goth. As a person of color, I can say from experience that it’s pretty damn rare to find a non-white goth.

I sighed “Sorry, I probably sounded like a jerk just now.”

Before I could explain, the boy said “Oh, don’t worry, Jamaal can have that kind of effect on people. Well, except most girls. They typically fawn for him,” he shrugged “I guess you’re different.”

“ _In more ways than one, pal._ ”

“So no, I won’t hit on you,” his dark eyes then bounced in realization “Not because you’re not pretty or anything, I mean, it’s just,” he grunted “Shit…”

I chuckled at his fumbling gentlemanly mannerisms “That’s alright. I totally understand.”

The boy seemed to exhale in relief “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here. And I know pretty much everyone.”

“I’m actually new,” I said “My name’s Jean.”

The boy nodded “I’m Marty Graw.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that fluttered from my chest “Seriously?”

The boy smiled back “Okay, you got me, you got me, it’s Martez Garcia.”

“Clever nickname, though,” I commented.

“Thanks.”

* * *

I didn’t get to see Marty in my next classes, unfortunately. However, I did encounter Jamaal once more in class. He was staring at me again, but it wasn’t in lust. His eyes held malice. It scared me a little. I didn’t expect him to be completely alright with getting turned down in front of his friends, but I didn’t expect _this_ reaction. He looked like he genuinely hated me.

At the end of class, I tried my hardest to get out of the classroom first just to escape the suffocating atmosphere. Unfortunately, my rushing caused me to fumble terribly and drop my books. By the time I dropped to my knees to pick up my stuff, the teacher had already left along with everyone else in the class.

I was alone…so I thought.

“So you’re gay.”

My head shot up at the voice, forcing to to make direct eye contact with Jamaal’s slit eyes.

“I’m...I what?”

“You heard me; you’re gay,” he said “Tch, I don’t see why you chicks always wanna turn gay when you can’t find a man.”

Angered by the ignorant statement, I snapped “No one turns gay just because they can’t get a date.”

“Yes you do,” argued Jamaal “You women always wanna be lesbians the minute a man ain’t loyal to you.”

Again, the fire within my chest flared. It was like I was talking to William again, fighting to defend my dignity in vain. Just like those arguments, another spiteful statement flew past my lips.

“I’m not even a woman!”

I hadn’t realized that I had stood up until I could feel Jamaal’s breath turn weak. 

His eyes widened and filled with fear. His lips parted as he took a hesitant step back.

Oddly enough, I didn’t feel a lick of regret. I knew in my heart though, that I should have.

“J-Jamaal-”

“Don’t touch me, bitch!” The panicked boy slapped away my hand when I reached out to him. He stared at me for another second before spinning around and running out of the classroom, leaving me alone once and for all.

I exhaled shakily as I got down on my knees again to resume picking up my books.

As I carefully reorganized my stuff in a neat little pile, relayed the day’s events in my head over and over, utterly flabbergasted by it all. Everything from that very morning all the way up to my aching hand ran across my eyes like a film reel.

“ _Did he really think I was a lesbian just because I turned him down? Maybe it’s because I’m dressed in butch clothes._ ” The word “butch” jumped out at me, causing a strange question to flash through my mind “ _If all butch women were lesbians, would that make Minzy a lesbian?_ ”

It took me a moment to realize my mistake, having my mind switch Miranda for a K-pop star due to the uncanny resemblance.

I allowed myself a second to laugh at myself as I stood up with my books in hand.

Just as I walked out of the classroom, I threw myself another question: “ _Why didn’t I tell Jamaal I wasn’t a lesbian right away?_ ”

Although my day had been filled to the very brim with questions from both myself and others, this one I couldn't answer right away.

I ended up abandoning it on my walk home and began thinking of other frivolous things to relieve my stress. Among one of those fanciful thoughts was 2NE1 and its beautiful female members. In that moment, I had reached the elevator of my apartment building and made a connection that was the answer to my question.

“ _Because I don’t know if I’m really not gay._ ”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I must say that this is pretty interesting for me. I’ve written and read about characters that have body dysphoria due to their gender, but never have I heard of a genderqueer character who has body dysphoria ONLY because of what their family says.


	3. The Tragedy of Jamaal Perry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some characters in this story use slurs, but that doesn’t mean I advocate prejudice of any kind (well duh!). So be careful for those who get triggered or offended in general [or people looking over your shoulder and thinking "wtf are they reading"].

I went to school the next day having forgotten the previous day’s trials. However, I was quickly reminded when my locker spat a horrible name my way.

"FAGGOT"

Thick black letters scrawled downward in an effort to adjust to the long rectangle shape of my locker. Upon closer inspection, I could see smaller spiteful words squeezed into the remaining space "faggot ass" "gay ass nigga" "sissy nigga" "bitch". More colorful combinations of the words were scrawled angrily as if whoever had done so literally vomited their emotions onto my locker without a moment’s hesitation.

"You a gay boy?" The voice in my ear brought me back to reality.

When I spun around, a handful of students had stopped to also gawk at my locker, awaiting my reaction. They wanted to see me get angry, break down into tears, anything, anything to prove that I had been smited.

The girl who had asked me the question wanted an answer, but that was something I couldn’t give her.

Without thinking, I ran to my next class, away from the question and away from my problem.

* * *

I was dumb for thinking that the teacher would let me in the classroom with a backpack and no books. Trying to explain to him just why I made such a mistake was just a fumbling failure.

I was at least glad that the hallways were empty and lacked the skeptical eyes that gawked at my locker earlier.

I stood before it, still not believing the text scrawled all over it. I reached out my hand to put in the combination, picturing the numbers from the paper given to me the other day in my mind. I lost track when I heard footsteps in my left ear.

I bit back a curse. The last thing I wanted was for a teacher to catch me casually opening a locker littered with such grotesque language.

I looked to my left to see if I would have to move down an extra locker to avoid questioning, but instead of a teacher, I saw Marty.

"I saw your locker," he said when we made eye contact.

I sighed through my nose "Probably Jamaal and his crew."

Marty nodded with his brows furrowed in an " _Isn’t it obvious?_ " expression "Of course it was them. Who else?"

I frowned. He was laying it on a little bit thick, wasn’t he?

"Guys like them aren’t afraid to pull a stunt like this," as he spoke, Marty began to pull a small spray bottle and cloth out of his pockets "It’s all just typical bullshit to everyone now."

I watched as he began to clean up the mess of my locker. The displeasure must have been evident on my face, because halfway through, Marty turned to me and said "I think you should meet my brother."

The statement was so out of the blue that I didn’t respond right away, not even a confused hum.

"Don’t worry, I’m not trying to set you up," explained Marty "He’s pretty good with issues like this."

"Oh, thank you," was the only thing I could think of to say at the moment. It seemed like a less than grateful response for such a kind offer, but hey, I’m not very good with words.

* * *

Like some sort of bodyguard, Marty stood by my locker at the end of the school day so that we could walk out of the school together instead of trying to meet outside in the throng of people waiting for buses or their parents’ cars to pick them up.

"So where are we meeting your brother?" I asked as I packed my bag.

"The Starbucks down on Lincolnway," answered Marty "He works there and usually takes his break at this time to call me and make sure I got out of school safe."

Fearing the worst, I halted my movements and asked "Is it really that bad out here?"

Marty shook his head "Oh no, not at all. My brother just likes to act like a mom sometimes."

I chuckled at the sarcasm, but I was then reminded of something "Wait, I need to call my mom to tell her where I’m going."

Marty nodded as I closed the locker door and slung my backpack over my shoulder. I slipped my hand into my pocket and produced my cell phone. I had grown a habit of just calling my parents on speed dial rather than memorizing their numbers.

" _Hello?_ "

"Hey Mama, I just wanted to tell you that I wanted to stop by Starbucks before I go home."

" _Starbucks? Which one, baby?_ "

"The one on Lincolnway."

There was a pause on the other line.

" _Oh-oh, not that one!_ "

"Huh? Why not?"

" _Don’t you remember that’s where we met that creepy gay cashier?_ "

I was ready to question what she had meant by that, but the memory hit me like a bus at full-speed.

When we were moving into Auburn City, Mama and I separated from Daddy and William for a short time. Since we were hungry, we decided to grab a light breakfast at the nearest Starbucks we could find.

It was a cool autumn morning and the skies were still slightly dark from the previous evening. The morning rush of people trying to get their fill of coffee in before heading off to work hadn’t arrived just yet, but there was still a generous amount of customers inside. Mama was walking ahead of me when we entered, clearly embarrassed of being seen with me after my haircut. I looked amongst the customers to see if they noticed. Hardly anyone spared me a glance. Although, it could’ve been my imagination.

When Mama reached a decent distance up to the counter, the man who had his head down, clearly concentrating on something, perked up once he realized a customer was approaching.

He smiled "Good morning, welcome to Starbucks," he said. The first thing Mama and I noticed was how effeminate his voice was. We didn't even have to exchange any form of communication to know that the other had heard it, too.

His voice wasn’t high-pitched as if he were a FtM, but the tone he used was like that of a woman. It just barely masked his natural Mexican accent. His face was free of any facial hair, leaving his smooth caramel skin exposed. His eyebrows had clearly been done, the notable arches too flawless to ignore. His silky black hair was pulled into a high ponytail, supposedly by a thin red ribbon. He also wore a micro chain necklace with the word BEYONCE in big blocky letters resting on his collar bone just above his uniform’s apron. On his thin wrists were also matching charm bracelets that jingled with his movements.

I could hear the hesitation in my mother’s voice when she said "It certainly is a good morning, isn’t it?" they both shared a modest chuckle as I studied the glass case of sweets before me "I think I’ll have black iced tea with a spinach and feta breakfast wrap."

The cashier typed my mother’s order in as he quietly repeated the order to himself "...and feta wrap…" I hadn’t been paying much attention, but I felt his eyes land on me "And would this little cutie like something from the bakery?"

I had been ogling the muffins and other various desserts for much longer than I had realized, making it very clear just how much I craved a sample.

I could see Mama give him a warning glare when his attention turned towards me.

"Uh-h, sure," I then cleared my throat "May I have a cheese danish and an iced coffee with milk, please?"

The cashier chuckled "Sweetie, aren’t you a little young for coffee?"

"I’m seventeen."

The man’s face drained in color as realization washed over him. He finally took notice of the glare Mama had been giving him and let out a nervous laugh "Oh, my mistake, honey. I’m very sorry."

I chuckled with him "It’s fine," I reassured him "I get that a lot."

Scratching the back of his neck embarrassedly, he asked "S-So an iced coffee with milk and a cheese danish, right?"

"Yes, please," I said.

In all honesty, I couldn’t blame the man for thinking I was young. Having my black petticoat conceal my curves, I probably looked no older than thirteen. That’s what to expect when you were born premature. You spend the rest of your life looking years younger than what you are. However, that didn’t seem to be what set Mama off.

"But Mama!"

" _C’mon, Jenny, I don’t want my daughter hanging around someone like that. Besides, I already made dinner_."

I wanted to give some kind of an argument, but the conversation ended with Mama hanging up on me. I reluctantly had to decline Marty’s offer and so, we went home our separate ways. For once, I actually wasn’t excited knowing that there was a home-cooked meal waiting for me.

* * *

I didn’t say more than a "hello" once I got inside the house and seated myself in the open seat. I just idly indulged in my meal without paying attention to the conversation of my family.

"Jenny, ease up on the parmesan; you’ll get fat," Daddy said, pulling me out of my ignorant state.

My brother muttered a "Too late for that," between sloppy mouthfuls.

I knew it wasn’t true and that William’s insult was just a cheap shot. However, that didn’t mean my ego wasn’t grazed a little bit.

"I’m not exactly in the mood to have my body criticized today," I said "Not after what happened at school."

This was a lame attempt at getting my family to sympathise with me. It never worked out the way I wanted it to, but that didn’t stop me from trying.

Not looking up from his glass Daddy asked "What happened?"

I sighed "A boy at school got mad at me because I turned him down."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, time out," interrupted William, being dramatic enough to actually put aside his utensils "A guy asked you out?"

I responded with a "Yes."

"Seriously?"

"Yes!"

He snorted "Poor chump must’ve been dared to do it."

Finally, Mama spoke up "You told him yes, right?"

"No! I said I turned him down. That’s why he’s upset with me," I said, irritated that Mama was only half-listening.

She frowned "Now why would you go and do that? You should have been grateful that he asked you out."

"I didn’t even know him!" I was pretty flabbergasted by my mother’s response. I wasn’t a piece of meat meant to be sold to the nearest bidder "Anyway, it wouldn’t even be worth it. He and his friends graffitied my locker."

Now my family seemed interested. William’s blue eyes widened before he grinned "Dang, the man couldn’t handle rejection from a petty loser like you, eh?"

I only shot him a glare.

"That’s taking it pretty far, don’t you think?" said Daddy, twirling around his pasta "Now he’ll get in trouble for vandalism, all over a girl."

I was slightly jaded that Daddy still refused to acknowledge my gender, but I was at least thankful that he cared a little bit.

"What did they write on your locker?" asked Mama, still pretty shocked.

I sighed, preparing myself to tell them the backstory "Well, the guy cornered me and said I that the reason I turned him down was because I was gay. He kept saying all this bigoted stupidity...so I-I ended up telling him that I was bi-gender," at this point, Daddy groaned and Mama uttered my name in a very worn out voice "Of course, he didn’t understand what I meant, so now he thinks I’m a gay boy. So they wrote "faggot" and other things like that on my locker."

At that point, William could hold back no longer. He burst into laughter, smacking his thigh in sheer amusement "That's priceless!" he cheered. As usual, his borish behavior was ignored.

"Jenny," Mama said again "Now you know you brought that upon yourself."

"What?! But Mama-!"

"Enough," Mama cut me off "You ain’t got no business telling folks this crazy nonsense about being a boy and a girl and all that bullshit. Now look what you’ve gotten yourself into!"

"But Mama, it wasn’t my fault! Just because I’m bi-gender-"

"Now Jenny, that’s enough," I was cut off my Daddy this time "This was funny at first but now it’s gone too far. You’re way too old to be playing pretend."

"No, but Dadd--" I was cut off when I looked into his intense blue eyes. I had never seen Daddy look so distraught at me.

"I want you to drop this act right now."

"Y-Yes, sir."


	4. To Femboy or Not to Femme Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The "r" word is used here, but because there is no actual dialogue or context about it, I couldn’t find a way to tag it accurately. If you are triggered, I apologize in advance.

When I came out as bigender a year ago, I was able to adjust pretty easily. With parents who didn’t care too much about what I did, I was able to buy my own binders online, get my own masculine clothing and schedule an appointment for a haircut. Of course, that’s not to say that they always tolerated my decisions in silence. The healing bruise on my face was proof of that.

The choices I made during the summer was easy. However, now that I was in school, I faced a new set of problems. People like Jamaal were to be expected, but I was caught by surprise when I walked into the girls’ locker room.

Immediately, several girls looked my way. Some of which probably heard the rumor that I was a "gay boy". The others who hadn’t heard probably had to take a second glance due to my androgynous appearance. I waited for one of them to panic, to cry out in shock that a boy had snuck into the girl’s locker room.

To my gratitude, that didn’t happen. Some of the girls averted their eyes quickly upon realizing just how long they stared and probably doubting the silly notion. However, there were a select few whose eyes followed me as the girls whispered among one another. I tried not to meet their gaze or make them aware that I could feel their eyes on me. So I kept my eyes to the ground and watched my feet take rigid steps past each other.

By the time I reached my locker, the shock factor had worn off and everyone went back to what they were doing. At least, I hoped that’s what they were doing. I didn’t want to think of the idea of someone watching me undress to eradicate or confirm a rumor. Not only did I feel insecure, but the idea was just downright creepy.

I was down to my gym shorts and bra before I felt two fingers prod my bare shoulder, almost shyly.

I turned around, a little frazzled by the cold touch, and met the bespectacled gaze of another girl.

"H-Hi…"

"Hey…"

Part of me felt like I recognized her from somewhere, but I couldn’t link a name or a place to her. I wondered what she could have wanted with me.

"Yesterday, I came to your locker and y'know…" she waved her hand around as if the rest of the story was long-winded and didn’t need to be repeated. Unfortunately, I didn’t know what she was talking about. She seemed a little embarrassed, though, which really caught my attention "Anyway, I’m sorry for thinking your were a boy. I mean, one of my friends told me that we had a new student, but she said the student was a boy, and, and…"

I could have sighed in relief. Apparently, the fumbling girl was the one who appeared at my locker when I saw it graffitied, the one who coined the nickname "gay boy". All she wanted to do was apologize for her generalization.

"It’s okay. I get that a lot," I blatantly lied to the rambling girl "It’s because my hair is short, I’m sure."

Behind the relief in the girl’s eyes, there was a hint of suspicion. That was a lame excuse I had just used. Nearly every girl here had short hair, save for extensions, but it seemed to be enough to satiate her concern for the moment.

Now that I was talking to the girl, I was able to get a good look at her. She held many of the traits that the other girls in this school around her had, including plump lips and a rounded nose. Her unapologetically thick glasses rested in front of her curious eyes and her black curls were dyed in interestingly warm shades of pink, purple and orange at the ends. She was curvaceous and busty, but it was mildly concealed by her conservative khaki shorts and colorful anime T-shirt. I’m pretty sure if she had been in a more adult attire, boys like Jamaal would be all over her, especially with that confident, ebonic voice of hers.

"I like it," she said, regarding my hair "Kimora Hair Dye?" she asked this pinching the end of her own hair. To this, I shook my head.

"It’s natural," I said "My dad’s a ginger so…"

"He’s white?" as soon as the question flew from her mouth, the girl palmed her lips "Ooh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like--"

"It’s okay," I reassured with a chuckle "It’s not like it’s rude to ask. My dad _is_ white."

The girl’s figure seemed to slack in relief "Phew..." she breathed "Thank god. You wouldn’t believe how many people called me out as a racist for asking that question."

"I know, right? It’s not racist to ask!"

The girl and I ended up talking as we changed and even continued our conversation in the gym. Her name was Imani and apparently, she was president of the anime club at the school. Not being into anime, I didn’t recognize that her shirt was from this anime called Black Butler and she got it from Hot Topic.

I’ve always wanted to watch anime, especially since most people linked it to K-pop, but aside from cultures, there was a major difference between being an anime fan and a K-pop fan. Anybody had time to listen to three-minute songs. Not everyone had time to watch over 100 thirty-minute long episodes. The only anime I watched thoroughly was Sailor Moon and that took years for me to finish.

Imani told me that black schools like Bridgewell had a hard time building anime clubs and that, at the moment, there were only eight members. I told her that I would consider joining if my schedule allowed it. Imani was pretty happy to hear that, but probably not as happy as me. Albeit Jamaal’s rudeness, my entrance into Bridgewell couldn’t have been more perfect. Already, I had made two good friends that I could honestly say had my faith. Sure, it may not be the safest thing to put your trust into someone you just met, but Marty and Imani showed a lot of potential.

* * *

 

The two-thirty rush had started and I just barely made it to my locker alive past all the bustling kids eager to go home. When I opened my locker, I was surprised to see something white tumble out and fall to my feet. It was a folded piece of notebook paper.

I stooped down to pick it up and immediately saw " _Martez G_." scrawled in blue pen on it. I stowed it in my pocket and put away my books. It was only after I packed up my backpack and closed my locker that I took out the paper to read the message.

In the same blue pen scrawling, the note read: " _Meet me @ the back parking lot_ "

Of course, I assumed Marty wanted to meet me somewhere so we could walk to Starbuck’s together. I wondered if his brother would actually be there to pick us up and drive us there, himself. The idea inflated my already good mood and sent me down the hall with a skip in my step.

I went through the front doors as usual and then circled the school building to go to the back. If this school was anything like my old one, I could assure myself that the back doors were only permitted by the after school athletes or staff members. I pulled on my aviators after getting tired of squinting at the harsh sun. Even in September, we would still catch a few sunny days left over from the summer.

It was only when I stood in the shadows of the parking lot that I was able to take my sunglasses off. I looked around and saw no one. All of the cars in the parking lot were still there because it was too early for the teachers to leave. I leaned against the cool, windowless, doorless side of the building and waited.

I nearly started to doze off one I heard a deep "Hey man!" from my left ear. Even though no one ever addressed me that way, I turned to look anyway just out of pure curiosity.

Much to my disgust, it was Jamaal and two other guys. They were probably the same friends that sat with us at lunch, but I haven’t paid enough attention to recognize their faces.

Jamaal had a sour sneer twisted on his lips and his squinted eyes proved that he was indeed calling me "How come I ain’t seen you in the locker room?"

I rolled my eyes with a tired sigh "I was in the girls’ locker room."

"Why’d they let you in?" he asked, stopping when he was right in front of me "I thought you said you was a boy."

"I never said that," I said, crossing my arms defensively and giving him a challenging stare.

"You said you wasn’t a girl, though!" he said, part of a laugh rising in his voice.

I bit my lip because I was hoping he had forgotten that part. He didn’t seem that bright, so I was hoping to outsmart him, but no. I had back myself into a corner I couldn't lie myself out of.

"I’m genderqueer," I said, closing my eyes in defeat "I’m between the male and the female spectrum."

I could feel the tips of my ears burn up and in a flash, I thought that my parents were right. I should have kept my mouth shut about my gender. I shouldn’t have gotten so cocky and expected normal people to understand my situation. Now I was forced to spit the truth to someone who could never understand the answer he was asking for.

Jamaal smacked his lips "The fuck you talkin’ about?"

Before I could open my mouth to try to plead with the taller boy, I was pushed onto my back, practically swallowed up by damp grass. Hands wrapped around my body with intense strength in frightening numbers. There were four more faces outside of the two Jamaal had brought with him. I had seen them in the hallway and recognized them as my classmates.

There were a lot of noises around me, from the rustling of the boys struggling to hold me down to the harsh pounding of my own heartbeat through my ears, but the sound of Jamaal’s voice stuck out to me the most "Lemme find out what you are."

Fingers found their way to my pants button and I screamed. It was cut short when my throat was grasped, forcing me to gasp for air instead of call for help. Everything happened so fast. My shorts were around my ankles and my shirt covered my face. I shivered and fidgeted as my naked skin rubbed against the wet grass. My body ached wherever the boys’ abrasive hands pushed me down into the ground. I couldn’t process and single thought. Even when it all ended, I didn’t know what to think.

I sat up, watching the boys scatter like frightened chickens with Marty watching them flee. Air returned to my lungs, but my mind’s fogginess didn’t clear up as fast. The first few times Marty shook me, I didn’t even respond. It took me a good three minutes to understand what he was saying.

"Jean! Jean! Are you hurt?! Jean! Did they rape you?! Jean, please answer me!"

My immediate response was to push away Marty with a defiant "I’m fine!" Even though he was trying to help me, the last thing I wanted were his hands on me while my clothes were pushed off of my body.

He was still breathing heavily and staring at me with angry eyes as I pulled my clothes back on.

"Did they rape you?" he repeated in a much softer tone.

"No," I told him "They were trying to figure out if I was a boy or a girl."

That only seemed to anger Marty more, his dark eyes practically flaming with hate "Are you fucking kidding me?" he growled.

I stood up, quickly "Listen, I just wanna forget this ever happened, okay?" I grunted, sounding more hurt than I wanted to "Thanks for saving me, but I really just wanna go home."

I picked up my backpack and turned to leave before he could say anything to my face.

"Wait--"

"Marty, please, I really--"

"Let me take you to my brother."

That was the only thing that made me turn back around.

I know it seemed stupid to want to visit my friend’s older brother at his job after what just happened, but the offer made me think about what my mom told me the other day, how she didn’t want to go to Starbuck’s because the cashier was feminine. When Marty offered to take me there, I wondered if I could see him again. I wondered if I would get to hear his welcoming voice, see his sweet smile, smell the scent of his saccharine cologne. I wondered if I could be in his presence again.

* * *

 

On the walk to Starbuck’s, Marty and I didn’t exchange too many words. I was still embarrassed by what had just happened and he was obviously still fuming over it, the occasional shake of his head acting as a constant reminder. Once we reached Lincolnway, though, he finally spoke up.

"Hey," he said "I’m not bringing you to my brother just for a cup of coffee."

"I figured," I said, flatly.

Although I didn’t look at him, I could tell Marty wasn’t really satisfied with my answer "He’s pretty different, my brother," he said, adding that last part as though he had remembered at the last minute.

"So he’s a goth, too?" I queried, running my eyes up and down Marty’s attire.

For the first time, Marty actually cracked a smile "Hardly," he snorted "He’s a femboy."

I gave Marty a questioning gaze "A femboy?" I had never heard the term before. I could guess that it possibly meant some type of feminine boy, but that seemed a little too obvious "What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means he’s a feminine guy," explained Marty "He likes to wear makeup, heels, jewelry, the works."

"Isn’t that a crossdresser?" I asked, noticing that we had approached the Starbuck's.

Marty paused in front of the Starbuck’s door and said "A crossdresser purposely dresses as the opposite sex. My brother doesn’t want to dress as a woman. His taste is just, well, feminine."

And with a chipper shrug, he opened the door for me.

His thorough explanation left me feeling a little awkward as I looked into the restaurant, making me almost want to turn around and call the meeting off. But I walked inside anyway.

I stiffly stood in the middle of the cafe until Marty came to my side.

"C’mon, let’s sit down," he said, patting my shoulder "He should be going on break in a minute."

I let him lead me to an empty table, where more silence built up between us. This time, it was filled in by the sound of other customers around us, so it wasn’t as strained or nervous as before.

Marty checked his watch every so often as if that would make his brother come out faster. I settled on looking out the window, letting the sun’s reflection off of the white concrete contort my vision.

"There you are!" I suddenly heard Marty say.

"Eh?! I didn’t know you guys were coming over today!"

Once I heard that voice, I knew immediately who it was even before I turned around.

When I looked back inside, I instantly recognized the face even behind the wall of colors built up from staring out the window.

"Jean, this is my brother, Noah," said Marty "Noah, this is my friend, Jean."

Noah instantly smiled at me, not just out of hospitality, but out of sheer recognition.

"Well, hi again, sweetie."


	5. Beeline

I was so caught off-guard by the person standing before me that I could only muster a pitiful “H-Hi.”

Noah smiled and gave a soft chuckle, not a teasing or taunting one, but an amused chuckle.

“So, I hear some boys at school have been giving you trouble, lately,” he said as he took a seat between Marty and I.

I felt my cheeks heat up as I looked over at Marty. “ _You told him?!_ ” I wanted to scold. Apparently, the look in my eyes wasn’t enough, because all Marty did was nod at me like an encouraging parent.

“Ah, well, I wouldn’t really say it’s any trouble,” I said, as I nervously reached up to flip my hair bang, only to be surprised to find it shorter than before. As much as I loved my haircut, I still wasn’t used to it “More of an annoyance, really.”

“Jean,” Marty growled at me.

When I looked back at him, I knew why he was frowning at me “ _I didn’t bring you here just to chat about the weather_ ,” his gaze told me. That didn’t mean I was about to tell Noah that I got pinned down and stripped today.

Carefully putting a hand on his brother, Noah said “Marty, maybe your friend doesn’t want to talk about this _right_ , right now.”

“But she’s getting harassed!” spat out Marty, causing the table behind us to glance our way.

I put  my fingers up to my tight lips “Hey, hey, try to keep the conversation between _us_ ,” I whispered.

The younger of the brothers sighed.

Noah glanced between the two of us as he sat in the simmering tension in the air. He drummed his fingers a few times before he finally spoke “How about I get you two some hot chocolate?”

This surprised me, but I didn’t want to turn it down “Sure,” I said, pulling out my wallet.

As soon as I started flipping dollar bills in my fingers, Noah’s hand covered my tiny hands “It’s on the house,” he said.

I was more enticed by the feeling of his warm hand and the sweet scent of his cologne than the offer. Thankfully, I wasn’t too stupefied to forget my manners and give him a proper “Thank you.”

He left and I noticed he hadn’t even gotten Marty’s confirmation on the hot chocolate.

Again, there was silence. I looked around and noticed all of the people on their laptops. I pulled out my phone under the table to Google more about Black Butler. There were missed call notifications at the top of my screen, but I chose to ignore it. Whoever had been calling me called again when I was in the middle of reading about Ciel. I put my phone away.

Soon enough, Noah came back with three drinks in his hands; the third beverage being a bottle of Vitamin Water for himself.

“Thank you,” I said again as I accepted my drink and carefully blew away the steam. I looked over to see what Marty’s drink was. It seemed to be a strawberry mocha. Apparently, it was cold since he was able to drink from it straight away.

Noah looked to his pouting brother “Now Marty, if Jean is being bullied at school, we should bring it to her teachers’ and her parents’ attention. As her friends, we don’t have that much power, alone.”

“It’s not bullying,” I said “It was just a one-time thing.”

Marty separated his lips from his cup, but Noah silenced him with a single finger.

“What happened?” the elder asked me.

I took a moment to think about what I wanted to say. I didn’t want to embarrass myself, but I also didn’t want Marty to spontaneously combust in his seat right in front of us.

“They graffitied my locker with...slurs,” I grumbled “The N-word, of course. The F-word and the B-word, too.”

Noah cringed as if the mere thought of the action disgusted him “Why are they doing this? Didn’t you just come into the school?”

I assumed that was another thing Marty told Noah “Yes, but I…” Fuck, I just opened a can of worms.

I didn’t look at Noah, but I knew he wasn’t rushing me, which made the silence all the more strained. I felt guilty for wasting his time like this, beading around the bush. Even the bustling sound of customers didn’t help calm the tide.

“I accidentally came out to one of them,” I took a sip of my hot chocolate, suddenly remembering that it was still there in my hands.

Noah didn’t ask what I came out as. He just nodded and said “So they’re homophobic.”

I nodded back.

“That doesn’t explain why they stripped you.”

I could have leaped across the table to smack Marty when he said this, but my good sense kept me from doing so.

Noah whipped his gaze at me quicker than lightning, his brown eyes blown wide in horror “What?!”

Again, the table behind us turned to look at us. I couldn’t find it in myself to tell Noah to be quiet the same way I had told his brother. I only lowered my hands in a “keep it down” motion while my face contradicted the gesture with its panicked expression.

“They weren’t trying anything,” I said through tight lips “They wanted to know what gender I was.”

“How could they not tell?!” blurted out Marty. The table behind us had heard, but at this point, they were just annoyed and decided not to look back at us a third time.

I looked straight into the swirling brown color of my hot chocolate “I’m bigender,” I admitted.

Silence.

Dammit, I said too much again. Wasn’t telling Jamaal enough? Now two more people know. I just keep making a bigger mess every time I try to clean up.

I waited for the typical “What does that mean?” followed by a string of disagreements and arguments, but it never came.

“I understand now,” Noah said.

I looked up. Both brothers had rid themselves of their befuddled and frustrated expressions. In the place of that was realization and clarity.

“Do you know what bigender means?” I asked.

“Of course I do,” said Noah “And I know it can be hell trying to explain being nonbinary to someone.”

A bomb of mixed feelings dropped in my chest: shock, disbelief, relief, euphoria, gratitude.

I almost felt dizzy from the high my emotions had given me. I swayed a little and Noah asked if I was alright.

“Never better,” was my response.

* * *

We talked until it was dark outside. Apparently, when Noah went to get us our beverages, he also asked for one of his co-workers to take over for him.

I never thought I would ever actually have an enjoyable conversation about gender. If I wasn’t arguing with hypocritical Social Justice Warriors on Tumblr, then I was defending myself against my conservative family members. But this time, our conversation was civil, lighthearted even. I ended up speaking up a lot more than I thought I would that day.

“Well, I had better get back to work,” Noah said, looking over his shoulder “Sure my co-worker’s pissed for making him take over for me.”

“Sorry to have kept you busy for so lo--”

I didn’t even get my entire apology out before Noah put his hands up “Honey, it’s fine, really. You don’t have to be sorry for anything,” he said as he stood up from his chair “I can’t guarantee I’ll be available all the time, but if you need anything, you can always come to us.” He then turned to Marty and asked “You gave her our number yet?”

“My number, yes,” said Marty.

“Well give her our home number, too, so we can both pick up,” Noah said with a pat on the younger brother’s shoulder.

Noah turned back to me “I hope I was able to help, Jean,” he said.

“You did,” I told him “Thank you.”

Noah gave Marty a kiss on the forehead, the latter cringing in disgust while the former held hints of a smirk “Get home safely, you two.”

The older brother hurried back to his work post before either of us could even give him a proper goodbye. I felt guilty again for taking him away from work.

“C’mon,” Marty chirped as he stood up from his chair.

I followed his lead and walked out the door with him.

The crisp cool air of the evening wrapped around my body like a sweater as the dark sky settled upon my vision. Any moment now, the street lights would turn on.

“We really stayed for a long time,” I commented.

“Yeah,” Marty agreed with a shrug.

Like earlier that day, we walked in silence, not because of any awkward tension. We were silent because we had said all that needed to be said inside the cafe. Well, there was one thing left.

“I forgot to thank you, too, Marty.”

For the first time that night, Marty smiled at me.

* * *

I whistled a chipper tune as I pulled my keys from my pocket. It was still weird having to enter two sets of doors in order to fully get home, but I preferred this to standing outside in bad weather while I looked for my keys.

I opened the door with a loud yawn. I had missed my afternoon nap and I was ready to make a beeline for my bedroom. I had been imagining my fully clothed figure face-planting on the bed, haphazardly tossing my backpack over the edge. I fantasized about the overly dramatic “poof” my mattress would make, the creaking of the springs inside. I thought about lying there in the dark for hours as my clothes pinched creases into my skin.

“Do you know what time it is?!”

My arm was ranked at the shrill sound of my mother’s voice. I could only gasp in response, looking at her like a deer in headlights.

How do you answer a question like that? Of course I knew how late it was. I had been looking at the night sky during my walk here. I didn’t need a clock to know the fault in my actions.

I could only think to quaver the words “I’m sorry.”

“You will be,” Mama growled, pulling me into the living room. My wrist felt like it was about to be ripped off in her hand. Her manicured fingernails pinched harshly into my skin. I struggled to keep up and fight the urge to run away, panic boiling in my gut with every nanosecond.

Whenever I had screwed up, my parents would just yell and ground me. Still, I hadn’t received a full-blown punishment since I was an incompetent little kid any years ago. With all the things William gets away with, I assumed my parents decided that teenagers didn’t need as much discipline as kids. That’s why I was so scared now. What Mama had in mind for me that had to take place in the living room, I had no idea. The ambiguity of it all was terrifying.

She threw me onto the couch. I thought she had seated me because she wanted me to sit in one place while she gave me a good scolding. However, she threw me onto my back so I’d be lying on the couch longways.

I looked up and saw her getting something from the coffee table.

A belt.

She had set a belt there for when I got home.

Before I could even react, the leather cracked across my body. I screamed as hot pain burned my skin. I tried to get up, but the whips came faster. They were only about five seconds apart at first, but with each hit, the time between them shrank. I could tell it wore Mama out to work up the speed because of the grunts and panting I would hear from her.

I writhed on the couch, screaming with each hit as hot tears spilled down my cheeks. Having experienced menstrual cramps, I had a high pain tolerance, but this was unimaginable. The pain never became tolerable. I was unable to get used to it. The worst part is that no matter what I did, I couldn’t avoid the wretched leather tongue from its lethal lick. Mama didn’t aim; she just swung. The belt would hit my stomach, my face, my breast, everything. I decided it was best to lie on my stomach and take the hits on my back.

Even when Mama stopped, it didn’t feel like it was over. My body was on fire. My head hurt from my overflow of tears and my throat was scratched from my howling. I continued to cry as I waited for my mother to walk away from me. I was too ashamed to face her. Even minutes after she left, I still didn’t look up. When I finally did get up with a final sniffle, the nightmare wasn’t over.

Daddy was leaning against the doorway. He had been watching the entire thing, and judging from his unamused face, it wasn’t out of concern for my well-being. He was just as disappointed in me as Mama.

We looked at each other for a moment.

“I was planning on watching my show,” he finally said “But if you want to wallow on the couch all night, I could always watch T.V. in your brother’s room.”

“ _That’s right. City Huntress comes on at seven. Daddy loves that show_.”

I sat up and got off of the couch, immediately falling down as the fresh bruises in my legs and thighs pulled me down.

My father walked past me as I struggled to get up and seated himself on the couch. I could hear the television come to life as I made my way to the door.

Yes, I was ready to make a beeline for my bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spankings/Whoopings are still pretty common in black families since it was derived from slavery (though, some Hispanic families do it, too). And even though physical punishment is sometimes needed for really bratty children, it's still a very grey area of discipline because it's very circumstantial.


	6. She's a Woman?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are familiar with Steven Universe, Lapis Lazuli was my inspiration for Jean, personality-wise and in physical appearance.

Embarrassment.

Being reminded of the whooping I received last night when I woke up to painful bruises pressing into my body the next morning brought me this emotion. That humiliation only followed me when Imani asked me about visiting the anime club that day and I was forced to reply with this: "Sorry, but I'm grounded."

The bespectacled girl gave me a confused look "Why?"

As usual, it took her only a second to realize her impulsive curiosity lacked manners and she apologized "I mean, you don't have to tell me. It's none of my business."

Also as usual, I said "Nah, it's nothing personal. I just stayed out too late."

Imani gave me an understanding nod, which told me that she, too, was also raised in a household with similar ethics. Although I was sure her parents weren't as unforgiving as mine, basic rules like "be home before dark" were taken very seriously with families like ours.

"Well, at least let me lend you my Black Butler volumes," Imani said "Don't want you to be too bored over the week."

Even though I was really disappointed that I had snatched the opportunity to socialize right from underneath me, my mood was immediately lifted by the kind offer.

Trying to load translations of the manga online was so frustrating and tedious. It was also a strain on my neck and eyes to read from a laptop screen. If you asked me, I would much rather prefer classic text on paper over a digital screen any time.

Like the natural homebody I was, I holed myself up in my room any time I got so I could read the manga in peace. My eagerness to get home made it easier to decline Marty's offers to go visit Noah.

One day, we didn't have school on Monday, so I was free to stay at home while my parents went to work. However, the alarm on my cell phone didn't get the memo, so it woke me up. Unable to get back to sleep again, I decided to grab one of the manga books and head outside to the terrace to read. I was really engrossed in the story, so much so that I hadn't even noticed the sun elevating into the sky as the morning hours passed.

"You scared me for a minute, there."

Ironically enough, that statement had startled me.

When I turned around, I was met with the sight of Miranda on her own terrace. She was casually dressed in a pair of red shorts, a worn grey T-shirt, and a pair of slippers. She didn't seem to mind the chilly morning air since she wasn't sporting a robe of any kind.

"I-I did?" I questioned.

"Yeah," Miranda confirmed "All I saw was a pile of blankets, then I saw your head and realized that you weren't even moving."

I nervously chuckled, a little embarrassed that I couldn't think of anything else to say. Once again, my awkward social skills were shining through.

"Must be a pretty good book you're reading," Miranda said, saving me from an uncomfortable silence.

"Oh! Yeah, it's this book called Black Butler," As petty as it was, I didn't want to outright tell her that it was a manga book, for fear that she would think I'm some weird nerd. Even if she did assume that of me, it most likely wouldn't have been in my best interest to associate myself with someone like that. And yet, my own insecurities won me over.

Miranda's brows bounced in intrigue "I've heard of that before," she said "Would you mind holding it up so I can see?"

I didn't really know what to think or feel of Miranda's response, but my hands acted on their own and fulfilled her request.

Her dark eyes studied the cover for a moment, then she nodded "I thought about reading that," she said "Where did you get it?"

"My friend gave it to me," I then added "I don't know where she got it."

Another nod and then silence.

"Would you like to come over?" asked Miranda.

The question was so sudden that I felt heat pool in my chest. Regardless, I said "S-Sure. Uhm, I'll get dressed."

"You don't have to," said Miranda "It's nothing formal."

"Oh," I said "I'll come right over then."

Mama and Daddy had taught me better than to go over to a stranger's house, and I wasn't dense enough to think that what I was doing was alright by any standards.

Usually, I was an overly cautious person who thought of possible consequences that I would have to avoid. However, I was in a weird state of mind that day. My conscience was just too tired to give a damn. Perhaps it was my parents' absence that made me feel gutsy enough to sneak out.

Even if Miranda had turned out to be some mass murderer who planned to make me her next victim, I feel like my corpse would have done nothing but given a shrug.

Miranda opened the door for me and motioned to the inside of her home "I hope you like french toast," she said "Granted, it's Eggo's."

"I've never had Eggo's," I told her "My parents always made it."

Miranda shrugged "Sorry for the downgrade."

Even though she wasn't serious, I still couldn't help but defend her "Oh no, it's fine. I'd love to try some! It's nice of you to offer in the first place."

This seemed to amuse Miranda, as she gave a grin. This surprised me since in the short while that I've lived next door to her, she hasn't displayed much emotion. That's not to say that her character was bland, rather she came off as…cool.

"I brought the book in case you wanted to read some," I said, holding it up to my chest.

"I really shouldn't," nicely denied Miranda "I mean, you borrowed it from a friend. It wouldn't be fair of me to ask you to lend it to me."

"You can read it while I'm here."

"I don't want to make you sit here and wait for me to finish it."

"I don't mind."

The ink-haired beauty looked at me with intrigue, then stepped aside to let me into her house "Well come on in."

I was immediately hit with a pleasant mixture of aromas. The maple scent of the breakfast Miranda had implied earlier wafted in the air along with another cushy smell that I could only recognize as Miranda's natural scent. I'll admit, I felt a little bit like a creeper for taking a liking to my neighbor's smell when this was only my second time talking to her, but I couldn't help but find it charming.

Like every apartment in this building, Miranda had the standard hardwood floors and tan walls. However, hers was much smaller than mine, considering that she was the only inhabitant. There wasn't much of an intended color scheme in terms of her decor. Of course, she had essential things like a coffee table and sofas in the living room and a dining table adjacent to the small kitchen. But personal aesthetics came in subtle features like the Rilakkumma bear sitting on the television.

"You can take a seat while I go make some more french toast," Miranda told me, motioning towards the dining table I had just been ogling.

I sat down as she disappeared into the kitchen, feeling rather out of place. As a homebody, it wasn't often that I left the comfort of my room, let alone my own house (with the exception of school and the local store). It made me think, when was the last time I ever visited a friend's house? When was the last time I was ever invited into someone's house?

Miranda returned with a plateful of french toast sticks with a pool of syrup on the side. Before I could even thank her for setting the plate before me, she asked "Would you like orange juice, milk, or coffee?"

"Uh, milk would be nice. Thank you."

"No problem," Miranda said as she disappeared into the kitchen again.

I then looked down at my plate. It sure looked and smelled good. I had to lick my lips in an attempt to catch the bit of drool that almost snuck past my tongue. I picked up one of the french toast sticks and swiped just the right amount of syrup. Miranda had just returned with a glass of milk and a steaming mug in her hands when I hummed "Mmm!" in delight.

Miranda gave another amused smile, as if she hadn't expected my reaction at all "I take it you like it?"

"I love it," I declared "I actually like it better than my parents'," I polished off the last bite of my french toast stick and took another "Usually, when my parents make it, the egg doesn't soak into the bread enough, so it's just plain bread wrapped in a rubbery cooked egg. But this is…" I stopped to finish off my second french toast stick.

Miranda gave a chuckle as she blew the steam from her coffee. It became apparent to me how I must have looked gobbling up the breakfast like some immature kid, so I made a note to slow my eating, trying to imagine the way Mama eats.

As I ate, Miranda picked up the manga book and started reading. I took my time drinking the glass of milk she had given to me after I finished eating. I didn't just want to be sitting there in silence while she read, but I also didn't want to just leave her out of boredom.

"Here's that character I've heard so much about," suddenly said Miranda.

"Who?" I asked, leaning over to see.

Miranda was pointing towards a long-haired bespectacled individual with shark-like teeth and a flirtatious smile.

"Grell?" I questioned "Oh yeah, he's pretty cool."

"Yeah, it's rare to have such a lovable antagonist, but Grell's got a pretty big following," Miranda then turned to look at me "But you know what's pretty funny?"

"What?"

"Most people don't realize that Grell is a transwoman," said Miranda.

I was silent for a minute, completely confused and in mild shock. I wouldn't think of this as some type of joke, but I didn't see it as true.

"Really? Where'd you hear that?" I asked.

"The wikipedia page," answered Miranda "Also, she says so when she first arrives."

At that point, I felt my underarms grow itchy with embarrassment as I realized that I had misgendered Grell. Of course, it wasn't the fictional character I was fretting over, it was Miranda. My experiences with Tumblr's Social Justice Warriors have taught me to fear for my safety if I dared to question the gender identity of a fictional character.

"O-Oh! I thought that Grell was just a femboy, y'know? I didn't realized that he, I mean, she was admitting to being trans."

Thankfully, Miranda didn't seem jaded at all by my ignorance. If anything, she was patient "That's okay. They don't really make it all that clear," she said "I mean, none of the other characters even address Grell as a woman. And also, she still primarily dresses in a pretty masculine way. Even the few times she does dress in anything remotely feminine, it just looked like typical manga hijinks."

"Hm? You mean it's common for male characters to dress as women in manga?"

Miranda put her hand on my shoulder "We have a lot to discuss."


	7. How to be Monarch of the Weebs

The shackles of my punishment were removed and I was finally free to do as I pleased. Though, I didn’t dare chance visiting Noah or Miranda again. Instead, I told them both that because of schoolwork, it would be best to contact me through text messages. I would also limit my fun to safer things like after-school activities.

When I told my parents that I would be staying after school for anime club, they gave me a dismissive “go ahead” as my permission. I was really excited, but nervous, too. I was never really a sociable person. I always stayed in my house to avoid getting in trouble. My latest escapades were a jarring example. Even though my parents weren’t against me having a social life, it just seemed that I would always find a way to piss them off in the process. And this was before we even moved to Auburn City. Maybe I was careless. Maybe I had bad luck. Who knew? But whatever the case, I would have a social life.

My hands shook as I entered the vacant classroom, but they ceased when I saw Imani inside. She flashed me a smile and we hugged. We were both glad I could make it.

“How’d you like Kuroshitsuji?” she asked.

“It was so good!” I couldn’t help gushing “I hope you don’t mind that I let my neighbor read it, too.”

Imani’s smile faltered a tiny bit in worry, so I quickly added “I was visiting her and she recognized the book. I wouldn’t let anyone see something I borrowed while I’m not in the room.”

The other girl gave a relieved sigh “Oh, thank god,” she said “I mean, I trust you and all, but, y’know…”

I nodded “I totally get it,” She didn’t have to finish “You wanna make sure your stuff is in safe hands.”

Imani smiled and nodded “So what did your neighbor think of the book?”

“Apparently, she’s been a fan,” I noted “I stayed at her house all morning while she told me about Black Butler and anime in general.”

“Really?” said Imani with intrigue “Then let’s put that anime knowledge to the test.”

* * *

Anime club was much different from what I had expected. For one thing, due to the homogeneously ebonic student body, the few people that joined were actually really cool. Some were the obviously amicable students that seemed very open-minded and participated in a lot of things. This particularly applied to the girls. Some were the much less talkative students who weren’t very open during classes, but showed their true colors in social settings such as the anime club.

Of course, though, there were a few “stragglers”, I’d like to call them.

Imani referred to them as “weaboos”. After a quick Google search, I found out that it was slang for a Japanophile. It’s pretty much as bad as it sounds.

Some people who came into anime club didn’t have a good grip on reality, and anime was one of the many things they took too far. They infused anime tropes and commonly known Japanese customs into everything they did. Sure, in the anime club, it was common to toss a few Japanese terms into conversation, but that was usually used as a joke, or as slang. For example, we would say something “gives me the doki-doki” when referring to something heartwarming, “doki” being the Japanese sound effect for heartbeat. A more commonly used phrase was “You brokoro my kokoro,” because “kokoro” means “heart” in Japanese. However, the “weaboos” never did this as a joke. They took it seriously.

It was clear that these kids just weren’t on the mental maturity level that they should have been. They weren’t just ordinary people who chose to be ignorant. No, they were mentally behind. There were a lot of kids like that back at my old school. It was a far stretch, but their behavior always reminded me vaguely of some kind of intellectual disability. I had done an essay on the illness before, and the symptoms seemed a lot like the behavior the my classmates displayed. Other people knew that something wasn’t exactly right with those kids. But I knew I didn’t have room to say anything because they were in a regular class with the other kids, not a special ed class.

I brought it up to Imani one day, and she was just as baffled as I was “Maybe it’s gotta do with how they’re raised. We don’t know what’s going on in their homes,” she said “I just pray that one day, they’ll come back to reality so they can live their lives properly.”

Her last sentence really stuck with me. Kids like that were technically trapped in a child’s mindset while the world matured around them. What would their lives be like by the time they freed themselves from their ignorance?

* * *

Even though I told Noah and Miranda that I would text them, I was finding it hard to do so. My thumb would hover over the phone screen until and dimmed and turned off completely. Then I would turn it back on just to repeat the process.

The butterflies in my stomach were too distracting for me to type a coherent sentence.

I had never given much thought to men and women before. There were many times my parents would discuss my hypothetical wedding with my hypothetical husband. There were also many times William would joke about me “hooking up with a dyke” sometime in the future. Even then, I never gave the idea any thought. I only treated it as passing noise.

When I admired how pretty women like the members of 2NE1 were, I could tell the difference between appreciating beauty and physical attraction. People like Miranda and Noah got more than just aesthetic appreciation out of me.

When Miranda sat close to me in her home, I wanted to touch her. When Noah smiled at me, I wanted to kiss him. I had never felt such urges with any other person before. It was these urges that made it impossible for me to message them without blushing furiously at a blank screen. It was these urges that crept on my mind at night and made my body hot. It was these urges that made me feel dangerous and dirty.

I immediately decided against looking to Tumblr to determine my sexuality. They made wide generalizations without actually doing the research. That, and they were much too preachy for my patience. I figured that doing my own research on professional websites dedicated to the topic was a better idea.

It seemed that I was bisexual because Noah and Miranda were a man and a woman, but I wasn’t sure if I was attracted to men and women in general. Some transpeople seemed attractive to me. So were intersex people. I’m ashamed to admit that I figured out by searching up some naughty videos online. At my age, moments when both parents were away from home were perfect for this. I figured since William was twenty-one, he wouldn’t bother me the way a baby sibling would. However, I got a grim reality check when he caught me with my hands between my thighs. 

Despite how fiery I usually am with my disputes with him, I was really quiet this time. I hardly even spoke to William, because I was honestly just too embarrassed. William, on the other hand, was very vocal about how angry he was. He didn’t hesitate to call me a slut or a whore whenever he got the chance. This wasn’t his usual teasing. He was genuinely pissed at me. Even though he was being completely hypocritical because he was the one who had opened the door without warning, I didn’t protest out of my own embarrassment. I was just thankful that he didn’t tell our parents. I didn’t even want to think about how they would react. Regardless, it was probably a good thing this happened. Now William never comes into my room.

* * *

Strangely enough, the anime club really helped me with my social life. The club members saw Imani and I as the “cool kids”. Sure, that was to be expected for Imani because she was the president of the club, but it was shocking for me. I became good friends with the girls’ soccer team because two of their teammates were in our club. One of the girls even remarked that she was curious to meet me because she always saw me smiling, which was most likely because I was internally laughing at a joke from earlier. I had been doing that a lot lately.

I didn’t have that much luck with the boys, though. Every guy that came up to me immediately asked me about my gender. This time, I chose to lie and say that I was a girl. It didn’t feel good, but it was a much cleaner way to deal with the questioning. It was easy to convince everyone since I already looked like pretty much any another black female. The rumor quickly wiped out like color in bleach. Of course, though, there was one remainder.

“What you goin’ around sayin’ you a girl for?!” 

I guess Jamaal wasn’t happy being the only one to believe the truth.

He caught me in the morning while I was at my locker. The others around me were either too distracted getting their books, talking to their friends, or by the surrounding noise of the full hallway.

To be honest, I really didn’t know what to say to Jamaal. I had anticipated his return, but even with that time to prepare, I couldn’t think of a proper excuse for what I had said to him that day.

“Hey!” he scolded “Why you tellin’ people you a girl?”

I reluctantly closed my locker, having gotten all of my supplies “Because I am.”

“Then why you tell me you weren’t?” he pressed.

I sighed and turned around to face him “What does it matter what I tell you? Isn’t the fact that you and those freaks saw it for yourself enough?” I spat at him.

Rouge flooded to Jamaal’s dark cheeks before he sneered at me with a growl. He hesitated before speaking again “You’re fucking gay.”

I rolled my eyes and he left.

I hoped that that would be the last time he would bother me with the issue. I felt that I could puff out my chest in pride that I had extinguished the problem all by myself.

* * *

Being in the girl’s locker room did more than just prevent me from wearing a binder to school. It gave me more insight on the other female bodies around me. There were many diverse body types. Some girls were skinny and some girls were fat, but most of them were average sized with a curvaceous build. They had narrow waists accented by their plentiful busts and hips. Although I wasn’t attracted to every girl in there, I can honestly say that all of these body types were attractive to me. I tried my best not to stare, not just for my own image, but also out of morality.

I also tried to refrain from fantasizing about the girls when I got home. I wasn’t sure if it was normal for physical attraction to go that far. I figured I should ask someone. I felt more comfortable as an AFAB to ask a woman. Asking Miranda something so embarrassing and intimate was out of the question. And even though I didn’t have feelings for Imani, I could say the same for her. She was a teenager who would probably feel uneasy about the question. I had to ask a woman with years of experience.

“Mom, I’m pretty sure I like girls.”

Mama was braiding her hair in the mirror while I sat on her bed, visible in her reflection. We were both alone in the house and I figured that this would be an appropriate time to bring up the topic.

Much to my ease, she wasn’t angry. Instead, she looked up at my reflection as a chuckle fluttered from her mocha lips.

“I knew you were gonna come to me with this at some point,” she said, still grinning.

At this moment, my stomach dropped a bit. Had I shown signs of attraction in the past? Was it so obvious that Mama saw it before I even noticed?

Was it because of my gender?

I didn’t want to ask that last question and risk breaking the peace.

“Y-You did?” I asked instead.

“Uh-huh,” said Mama “It’s normal for girls your age to start noticing other women’s bodies. You start comparing them to your own and taking note of how pretty they are.”

A little confused by the explanation, I shook my head “I don’t really understand…”

“A woman’s beauty is everywhere in our media, Jenny,” continued Mama “With how often we’re put on the spotlight, it’s natural for young girls like yourself to look for that beauty in the women around us.”

Now I understood what Mama was saying. She thought I was admiring girls aesthetically, which I did. She was also thinking that I was gauging women based on society’s beauty standard, which I did not.

“That’s not what I mean, Mama,” I said “I’m attracted to girls.”

“I thought so, too,” said Mama “But of course,” she gave a pleased sigh “Nothing can replace the strength of a man.”

“I like guys, too,” I said.

“Naturally!” said Mama “Trust me, Jenny, this whole girl crush phase will pass on.”


	8. The Secret Life of a Mannequin

That morning, I got it; the thing I had been waiting for. Noah's words were presented on my screen.

 ** _Noah:_** _Hey how are things at school? Are you okay?_

I started to type out my response, the phone automatically corrected my lack of punctuation and capitalization as fast as my fingers could go.

 ** _Me:_** _Yes, I'm fine. I took care of the rumors_.

I wanted to thank him for checking on me, which turned out to be way more difficult than I thought.

 ** _Me:_** _Yes, I'm fine. I took care of the rumors_. _Thank you so much for checking up on me. That's so nice of you_

By then, my text was beginning to look like a crowded paragraph in the tiny box, and reading it over, it sounded like I was a gushing fangirl who had just been graced by the presence of an American pop icon.

I deleted that portion and typed something more concise.

 ** _Me:_** _Yes, I'm fine. I took care of the rumors_. _Thanks for checking on me._

I was about to hit send when I noticed how blunt and cold the ending statement sounded. It seemed too straight to the point and professional. We weren't business colleagues after all.

" _What are we anyway?_ "

I put aside that thought for another time.

 ** _Me:_** _Yes, I'm fine. I took care of the rumors_. _Thank you for checking on me :)_

There. That seemed appropriate.

I hit send, but even then, I didn't feel out of the woods yet.

I sat there for god knows how long, just waiting for a reply. I was both eager and anxious about it. I didn't want to be left waiting, but I also feared what Noah would say. Of course, both conflicting emotions were on a small scale because of the minor situation. Still, it was embarrassing to know that these emotions were only caused by my feelings towards Noah.

"Jenny! Come get off that phone and clean the kitchen!" I could hear Mama call out from down the hall.

I sighed, but got up regardless. The kitchen wasn't that dirty anyway, so it wasn't gonna be a tough job. Also, it gave me time to just take my mind off of things and daydream like I do in the shower. I guess even mundane activity like cleaning leaves enough room for the mind to create "shower thoughts".

By the time I had finished, I had filled up my mind full of thoughts and theories on the previous episode of Black Butler, and forgotten about the text message. This meant I didn't think anything when I saw the light on my phone flashing green.

 ** _Noah:_** _No problem, sweetie! I'm just glad you're ok :)_

 ** _Noah:_** _Hey do you wanna come over and hang out today?_

To say the least, I was surprised. I couldn't help asking myself " _Am I seriously on house-visiting level already?_ " We had only met twice, and only one of those times could be considered a proper meeting.

My excitement died down when I realized that it was probably Marty who wanted to ask me to come over, and Noah just decided to add it to his text as a last minute thought.

 ** _Me:_** _Sure, lemme ask my parents. What's your address?_

I didn't like having to tell him that I needed to ask my parents, because it made me sound five years old, but it was just the truth.

With my phone in hand, I made my way to my parents' room. I could already hear the two happily chatting with the television acting as background noise.

"Hey guys," I greeted "Can I go to Marty's house?"

As assumed, Daddy asked "Marty? Who's that?"

"A friend from school," I said. I never really mentioned my friends around them because I knew they would forget about them a minute later.

Mama and Daddy exchanged a glance. Part of coming from an old-fashioned family is that there were some policies about friends. One thing for sure was that the only way to get permission to go to a friend's house is if our parents met each other and got acquainted with their kids. No parent wants to send their kid off to a house full of murderers. But that's just the thing; I wasn't a kid anymore. My parents could trust me not to befriend someone from the Addams family, and as they gave me new responsibilities over the years, they were coming to know this.

"Where does he live?" Mama asked.

I didn't want to let them know that I didn't know where I was going, so I said "Uh, I wrote it down…" as I reached for my phone. Thankfully, by now, Noah had replied.

"5393, Sunset Avenue," I read.

"Do you know how to get there?" asked Daddy.

I shook my head, regrettably. This meant I couldn't take myself there.

"Well, I'll drive you," he grunted as he got up from the bed.

I smiled and turned to go back to my room to get dressed. I was a boy that day, so I put on a binder, briefs, a black V-neck, blue jeans, and black converse. It was chilly outside, so I also put on a purple hoodie. I felt a little cocky, so I even rolled up my sleeves a little bit, despite how redundant it was. It was only a brief walk through the parking lot, after all.

In the car, I texted Noah that I was on my way, and gazed out of the window in anticipation.

"So what's this Marty like?" Daddy asked at some point during the ride.

"Oh, uh, pretty cool," I said "He's a classmate of mine."

Daddy smirked at me "Could you be a bit more vague, please?"

I chuckled "Well, he's a simple guy, but a good guy, y'know?"

"That's one thing you'll have to get used to, Jenny," said Daddy "Us men, we're simple creatures."

"That's a stereotype, but whatever."

"It's the truth."

The conversation ended there because at that moment, the car was slowing down at a house. It was a modest size with an even more modest appearance. It was neither upscale, nor shabby, and the same could be said for the entire street.

Noah sat on the patio, studying the car to decipher whether it was us or another stranger parking on the curb.

Daddy snorted "Who's the gay guy?"

I felt my face heat up a bit in annoyance "Marty's brother, Noah. He probably wanted to make sure we didn't pass the house."

Daddy's brows raised as he laughed "Oh boy…" he then patted the back of my car seat "Well, good luck with _that_."

I stepped out of the car and made my way up to the house. I had to squeeze through the two cars in the driveway to get to the walkway.

At the end of the walkway, Noah was smiling and waving to my dad. I wondered if he had waved back at all. Knowing Daddy, he was probably still laughing.

After Daddy drove off, Noah looked back down at me "Hey you! Looking great as usual."

I blushed at the compliment, a flattered chuckle fluttering past my lips.

He opened the door for me "Come on in, sweetheart."

I thanked him as I stepped inside.

Immediately, my senses were all simultaneously greeted by the house. The warm tan and cream-colored interior dazzled with gold light from the lamps and paintings of red roses. Countless spices tickled my nose and left a salty taste on the back of my tongue. I could hear a television humming in the background, and feel a comfortable warmth around me.

"Nice place," I admired "Your house is beautiful."

Noah scoffed as I kneeled down to take off my shoes "Oh honey, this is nothing. Trust me, if I had it my way, this house would make Michael Kors envious."

"Are you dissing my decorating skills again?" a voice called from the living room.

Noah chuckled "No, madre."

Looking off to the left, I could see a couple sitting in a couch, apparently playing a video game.

I assumed the woman whose head was inclined with her eyes still focused on the screen was "madre". She then looked over at me with a smile and said "Hello Jean! It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Garcia," I replied.

She was about to speak again, but her head suddenly jerked back at the screen with a gasp "Hey! That's a cheap shot!" she playfully smacked her husband's shoulder "Getting me while I'm introducing myself to the kids' friend, _deberías de estar avergonzado_!"

The husband, in response, laughed, but adjusted his glasses and turned to me "Hi Jean, how're you?"

"I'm great, thanks for asking," I said.

Noah rolled his eyes and led me upstairs "Marty's up here, if you're wondering."

I knew it. Marty was the one who wanted to see me, not Noah. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to me. I was just some bullied kid his brother brought in. What would a grown man like Noah want with me?

* * *

Marty and I spent the day watching TV and talking. Noah would come in occasionally with something to talk about, once with food that he ate with us. He even made himself comfortable on the bed with me. With Marty sitting at the computer chair, the little room there was left on the bed was the only thing Noah could rest on.

"You feeling lonely, Noah?" snarked Marty.

"Tch, no," the young adult laughed "Just checking in on you like a good brother. You should be grateful."

"Right…" Marty lilted sarcastically.

After finishing off my bite of food, I spoke up "In case you were wondering, we were just talking about the anime club at our school."

Noah's eyes sparked in interest "You're in anime club?"

"Yeah," I confirmed "In fact, Imani and I were thinking about going to the next convention in town. I was gonna cosplay, but…" I stopped, realizing that I was letting my mouth run a bit too much. In a moment, I was gonna say " _My body would look horrible in those costumes_ ," a thought that had been pressed to the back of my mind for a long time, just waiting to be vocalized.

"…I can't decide who I should be," I said, instead "I mean, I want to go as a Black Butler character since it's the only anime I know well."

Noah nodded "You know, I haven't really watched much anime," he stated "If it were Vocaloid, I would definitely recommend you dressing as one of the Kagamine twins."

"Oh no…" said Marty.

"I can make you some costumes—"

"I knew you were gonna say that," said Marty.

I looked between the two brothers, confused by the abrupt exchange.

Noah silently feigned ignorance, but the smile on his face said it all.

Marty sighed "He makes clothes as a hobby," he explained "This includes cosplay outfits."

"Seriously? That's so cool!" I then said "But I mean, I couldn't ask you to make me an entire costume. That's…it'd be asking for too much."

Noah chuckled "Oh, please! It would be my pleasure."

Marty then muttered "Meaning he wants to make a mannequin out of you."

"So I ask you to model my clothes sometimes. You act like I'm a slave driver."

I spoke up again, but my voice was a little quiet "Well, being a mannequin is the least I could do for someone who's literally making clothes for me. I'll do it, sure."

I swear I could have seen stars in Noah's eyes.

* * *

Noah and I agreed to save certain dates and times for when we were both available to make the outfit. I decided to leave the choice of which character to cosplay up to him since I was pretty much okay with any of them, which is why I was so indecisive in the first place. In the end, he suggested Alois Trancy. Sure, Alois was a brat, but it was the character design we were looking at, not the personality. That was something I could provide on my own.

On the first day of designing, I insisted that I pay Noah. I say "insisted" because he would argue that he didn't have to be paid for something he wanted to do, especially for a friend. But that didn't shift my moral compass. I told him that if I couldn't pay him in cash, I would pay him in some kind of treat. I had planned on getting a summer job, anyway, and could probably treat him with the money I would earn. His response was a warm smile and a tender pat on the head.

Things got a little interesting after we established the initial design and what we wanted it to look like. I didn't have the average size two body of those 5'11 models in magazines. We had to conform the outfit around my body.

"What are your measurements?" Noah asked.

"I don't remember," I told him "Even if I did, I've probably grown out of them by now."

Noah averted his eyes and fiddled with the measuring tape he had used to take my height "I…would you like my mom to do this?"

"Isn't she sleeping? I don't wanna wake her," I defended "It's okay, Noah. I trust you."

It was supposed to be a casual fact without any weight behind those words, but it only seemed to succeed in making him look even more embarrassed. I knew why he felt this way, but even if he _did_ try anything, he would immediately be caught. The door was open, and Marty was in the room across the hall. I could even hear their dad typing rapidly on his computer in the next room. Any suspicious noise—or eerie silences—and one of the two would come forward.

Regardless of all of that, Noah's hands shook as he wrapped the tape around my hips, chest, and waist.

"…Okay," he breathed as he finished, stepping away from me like I was a fire ready to burn him.

He then awkwardly looked for the notepad that was set on his dresser and jotted down the measurements.

I almost felt bad for Noah.

* * *

Another night, another delicious dinner after finishing my homework and getting updates on the costume via text message.

The sound of crunching vegetables echoing in my head mingled with the actual sounds of my family's conversation. Whenever they said something I didn't approve of, I would put another mouthful of food in my mouth to drown it out.

"Baby, aren't you excited?" asked Mama.

This was the first time I was addressed that night, so I was slightly caught off-guard "Huh? For what?"

Mama gave me a baffled expression "I'm glad you're focusing so hard on your studies, but don't tell me you seriously forgot!" she said "You turn eighteen tomorrow!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Madre" = "mom"  
> "deberías de estar avergonzado" = "you should be ashamed"  
> When the characters are speaking their native language in a heavy accent, it's italicized, but when characters are just saying maybe one or two words in their native language and/or hardly using their accent, it's left as normal text. I have a few hispanic relatives, but the younger ones don't have an accent or speak Spanish often. So I tried to infuse my personal experience here.  
> Even though single mother representation is good, I didn't want to feed into the stereotypes that hispanic families are usually fatherless and/or all feminine men are fatherless.


	9. Cake for the Neighbor

I honestly couldn't believe that I had managed to forget my own birthday. I guess that transition to a new city and a new school really swept my mind. Long before the move, I was thinking about what I'd like to do for my birthday. I didn't know what was in Auburn City for me to do.

Usually for a milestone birthday, you're supposed to do something big. I mean, I was turning eighteen. I was an adult now. In a few months, I would be graduating high school and going off to college. When people thought "eighteenth birthday", they typically thought of a huge party, one of those parties where your house becomes a whole club filled with your friends and their friends.

Though, that wasn't the case for me. I was an introvert. I only ever made acquaintances that came and went with the years. It's not that I was antisocial. I just didn't mind being alone, but I also didn't mind having friends, either. That's why I was happy to meet Imani and Marty.

"It's your birthday?!" cheered Imani "Happy birthday!"

"Happy birthday," said Marty "What are you gonna do?"

I shrugged. It was the end of the school day and everyone was leaving. Marty, Imani, and I started meeting around the door closest to the parking lot to hang out and walk home. I supposed when Marty asked me that, he was expecting me to have some plans after we go home.

"I don't know what there is to do around here," I said "I would have looked stuff up ahead of time, but the transition here totally made me forget."

"Wait, you forgot your own birthday?" questioned Marty, his voice leaning on sympathetic.

"Yeah…" I sighed, not too proud to admit it. Forgetting my birthday didn't bother me. If anything, it seemed like a funny mistake to me, but it sounded sad having it said back to me. When Marty said it, it sounded like I wasn't fortunate enough to indulge in holidays, as if life and work had stolen that luxury away from me.

"Hey, don't sweat it," encouraged Imani "You don't gotta limit the celebration to just the _day_ of your birthday. If you wanna give yourself a few days to find something to do before you celebrate, do that!"

Marty nodded at the exuberant girl's notion "That's true. I mean, it's not that fun to celebrate your birthday on a school day, anyway. You'll only get maybe three hours to do something," he agreed.

Suddenly, Imani bounced on her heels "Ooh! Let's go to the movies this weekend!" she suggested "There's a ton of new movies out, and Leonardo Theater has the best jalapeño pretzels."

I could feel Imani's energy pass onto me like cigarette smoke "You guys wanna go with me?" I questioned.

"Of course!" and "Duh," came at me simultaneously.

We established that we would check our schedules and group text about which movie we would like to see.

That day, I walked home with a skip in my step.

When I came home, there was double fudge cake and pineapple pizza waiting for me on the table. Both were from the same pizzeria, and both were delicious.

I must have kissed my parents' faces enough times to bruise them. William had gone out, but Daddy said that he had wished me a happy birthday before he left.

Moments like this are funny. There are days when my family and I got along wonderfully, where there was no conflict whatsoever. These days reminded me just how much I loved them.

Sure, we disagreed on social and political views. And sometimes their criticism of my choices wasn't fair, but that can be said for a lot of families, especially black, old-fashioned families like mine. Corporal punishment like spankings didn't always mean the kids were abused. Scoldings didn't always mean the parents hated their children.

I can't say that I like my family members as people, but as my kin, I love them. Their blood in my veins filled my heart with unconditionally love for them. Until the day my blood runs out, that love will always remain.

* * *

The next morning, I woke up with a single thought in my mind.

" _I'm eighteen years old._ "

I didn't still feel like a kid like most people say they do, but I certainly didn't feel like an adult yet. I couldn't see myself going to my job instead of school every morning. I couldn't see myself sitting down and paying my bills. I couldn't see myself going house hunting and thinking about how I would be able to pay it off.

I was already unable to utilize my driver's license because the two cars my family used were always being used by either my parents or my brother. So that little sense of adulthood was rare to experience.

" _I would probably feel more adult if I wasn't so small_ ," I thought to myself with a little grunt.

I got out of bed and stalked my way to the restroom. On my way, I caught sight of the cake in the kitchen. Immediately, I thought of bringing a slice or two to Miranda before I go to school.

Yeah, food is the way to anyone's heart.

After I got myself ready in the restroom, I pulled on my jacket and backpack, and went to the kitchen to wrap up the cake.

Just as I was getting the aluminum foil, I heard footsteps behind me.

"You plan on eating cake for lunch?" joked William.

As preposterous as it was, I knew William was partially serious. My liberal views often made my family see me as "not the sharpest tool in the shed".

"No, I'm taking it to Miranda," I answered, making sure the aluminum was properly secured around the plate.

William's light-colored brows bounced in intrigue as an eager smile crept on his lips "You go on to school, squirt. I'll take it—"

"No," I objected "I wanna see her myself. And to be honest, I doubt she'd want to see you with the impression you left on her."

William rolled his eyes "You're too young to understand this type of stuff, kiddo," he snorted "Don't think just because you turned eighteen that you suddenly know everything."

I licked the icing from my thumb "I don't know everything, but I know how to respect people," I said.

Already having my backpack on my shoulders, I started to head towards the door.

"It's not like she's your friend or anything," I heard William hastily say "You don't have to bring her cake."

I turned around to respond, but I caught myself hesitating. Despite that one morning with Miranda, I wasn't very sure if we were friends yet. Would an independent adult like herself be interested in befriending a teenager like me?

"Don't tell me you're gay for her."

My thoughts came to a sudden halt upon hearing William's snark.

"W-What? How did you know I…?"

William's face dropped as I trailed off, every speck of smugness absent from his features.

"I was just kidding…you're gay for our neighbor?!"

"No!"

"Yes you are! You just said it!"

Once again, my big mouth ruined everything. My fear clouded my ability to detect my own brother's usual sarcasm, and revealed one of my worst secrets. He would never let me live this down.

"No, I-I-I just—" I stuttered "I don't have a-a crush on Miranda. I'm tired, okay? I'm still struggling to get my thoughts together let alone form sentences…y'know?"

William opened his mouth to speak, but I spoke up again "I just wanna give some birthday cake to a nice neighbor of ours." I then left without a second thought.

When I was outside in the hallway, I stopped for a moment to see if William would follow me.

He didn't.

I looked at the cake in my hand. After the little exchange that just happened, I was less than confident about seeing Miranda, but I wasn't going to go back inside just to put the cake on the table in cowardice. I had to give her the cake.

Just as my hand reached up to knock, the door opened, leaving my knuckles to swish the air.

Miranda seemed just as surprised as me, as she stepped back slightly "Hm? Jean?"

I noticed that she was fully dressed with a jacket and a backpack "Oh, are you going to school?" I asked.

"Yes, I guess you are, too," replied the woman as her eyes roamed my attire.

I gave a sheepish smile "Sorry to stop you. I just wanted to bring you some birthday cake."

"Someone had a birthday?" questioned Miranda, now eyeing the cake in my hand in interest.

"Yeah…me," I said "I turned eighteen yesterday."

The Asian woman smiled in delight "Well I wish you had told me. I would have loved to come celebrate with you."

I don't know why, but I felt my cheeks blush slightly "I didn't really celebrate yet since it was a weekday. My friends and I are gonna go to the movies on Saturday. If you want, you can come then."

"Saturday sounds good," Miranda nodded in agreement "What movie are you going to see?"

"I was thinking of that new superhero movie…"

"Arrow Grist?"

"I think so."

Miranda smiled again "I love those movies," she sighed.

"Superhero movies?" I questioned.

"Well, the ones made by Margot Keen. She has this book series that she's been adapting into movies lately."

As Miranda explained, her eyes seemed to light up as she waved her hands in mild excitement. Knowing her as the relatively chill woman who lives next door, it was surprising seeing her like this.

The surprise must have been visible on my face because she then paused and said "Pardon the mini fangirl episode." She then reached out to take the plate of cake from my hand "Thank you for the cake. Happy belated birthday, Jean."

When I thanked her for the birthday wishes, I thought that would be where we departed, but then I remembered that Miranda was leaving to go to school, too. So our conversation ended up continuing as we walked to the elevator and went to the lobby. Even though it was just normal talk, I still felt elated during those few minutes. Already, I felt natural talking to Miranda, but then William's words came back to haunt me.

" _It's not like she's your friend or anything._ "

The crisp autumn air cut across my face as we stepped outside.

"I'll see you Saturday, Jean," said Miranda as she walked up to the bus stop near us.

"Right…" I said with a little less energy than I had before.

I don't know if my "bye" reached her or not. I just turned to take my route to school as I had done everyday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier in the story, I had planned for Jean's parents to be abusive, but I feel like that trope is overused and I didn't want to make a bigger victim out of Jean. Instead, I decided to stick with keeping them as old-fashioned parents with views and parenting styles that some people would disagree with, mostly to show the cultural and generational difference. Also, I wanted to define my personal view of familial love, which is that it's unconditional. I believe that just because you don't get along with your family doesn't mean you don't love them.


	10. Ice Class

“Excuse me, miss, but this movie is rated R.”

“Yes…?”

“You need to be eighteen or older to watch.”

“But I am eighteen.”

The man’s eyes flickered for a moment in disbelief, then scanned my face in bemusement. He seemed to be questioning his own judgement as he studied my features before giving his final verdict on the matter.

I did my best to suppress a sigh as I reached into my wallet to pull out my ID. The man reached out with a doubtful hand.

Like my face, he read over the ID card carefully, rereading my birthdate and doing the math in his head over and over again for accuracy. He must have believed me by then because he shook his head in amazement.

The man returned my ID to me with a slurred “R-Right, sorry.”

I gave him my forgiveness with an awkward chuckle and took my tickets. I sat down at one of the tables near the snack bar. I still didn’t quite understand the point of having tables and chairs set up as if it were a restaurant instead of a theater.

Miranda came back from the snack bar with the candy I requested and a bottle of soda.

“I’ll get more stuff when Imani and Marty come,” she said as she handed me the colorful little bag “I just really needed something to drink.”

“I feel you,” I said as I accepted the candy and gave her one ticket in exchange. I decided it was best not to tell her about the little encounter I had getting them.

Before I got the first piece of candy in my mouth, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I picked it up and answered without looking to see who it was “Hello?”

“ _Hello…Jean?_ ”

To say the least, I was surprised to hear Noah’s voice. I think it was the first time he had ever called me instead of texted.

“Oh, hi Noah,” I said “How’re you?”

“ _I’m good. Um, did you get my texts?_ ”

“Texts? Sorry, but I didn’t see them yet. I’m at the movies right now, so I was probably getting ready when you texted me.”

“ _Oh, I see! Well, it’s nothing big. I was just texting about the Alois outfit._ ”

My mouth opened in a silent gasp as I came to a slow realization. I was supposed to meet Noah to work on the outfit.

“ _Hello? Jean? Hello?_ ”

I shook my head and jumped right back into the conversation.

“Oh my gosh, I completely forgot. It’s just that my birthday just passed and I wanted to celebrate with some friend—“

“ _You had a birthday? No way! You didn’t tell me!_ ”

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it “I…I forgot. Marty didn’t tell you?”

“ _Nope_ ,” Noah answered, sounding a little disappointed “ _Well happy birthday, Jean! I hope you have fun._ ”

I smiled and blushed, this time grateful that he couldn’t see it “Thank you Noah, and thanks for reminding me about the cosplay.”

“ _No problem.Talk to you later._ ”

“Okay, bye.”

As soon as I ended the call, Miranda lifted her finger forward “Is that them?”

I looked up to see Marty and Imani coming in through the glass doors, Marty already managing to Imani laugh with what I could only guess was one of his many sarcastic jokes.

I could tell this was going to be a good day.

* * *

Of course, Arrow Grist was our main topic in anime club. It could have been easily argued that it’s not anime-related, but it was still within the geek realm and fun to talk about.

I was surprised by the amount of guys that said they didn’t like the movie or Margo Keen’s works in general. When I asked why, I never got clear-cut answers. My questions would always get dodged with murmured “It’s just…meh,” and other variations of that.

I only got a definite answer when anime club ended and everyone left the room.

“Hey, you know why those boys were hating on Keen’s movies.”

Imani seemed to be telling me rather than asking, which confused me.

“Of course not, that’s why I kept asking them!” I replied.

Imani lightly shook her head as if she couldn’t believe that I didn’t know “It’s cuz she’s a _woman_ writing _superhero_ stories.”

My immediate reaction was a disgusted scoff “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me. It’s the year 2014.”

“ _And your parents still thinks Asians are practically the same as whites_.”

That thought alone showed me just how rude I can be to myself.

“Well think about it,” started Imani “If you were a guy and you had loads of privilege in the media, how would you feel about woman suddenly stepping up and getting successful?”

“Nothing, I mean, it doesn’t affect me and my success,” I stated, a little irritated by the topic, alone.

“Lemme rephrase that,” said Imani “Imagine two classes sharing one community, one class has ice powers and the other has fire powers. You’re fire class. Even though being able to control fire has its downsides, you ultimately have the most privilege, power, and influence. One day, you hear an ice class gal’s getting really popular. People love her.”

“That’s a good thing, though,” I insisted.

“It is, but probably not for you,” continued Imani “You’re at the top of the social ladder, then some raggedy ice class girl starts getting close to your level? She’s competition! She might take away your privileges.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why would she do that?”

“She wouldn’t do it. The public would,” responded Imani “Everyone loves her, so they don’t wanna see her being all oppressed, right? They think she deserves the same opportunities as any famous person, even a fire class celebrity.”

“But then we’ll both be treated equally and have the same privileges, right?” I asked.

Imani chuckled “A fire class would never wanna share the wealth with ice class scum!”

“ _I_ would!” I argued.

Imani smirked “Well of course _you_ would, Jean,” she said “Because in real life, you’re not fire class. You’re ice class.”

* * *

I thought about what Imani said for a while. I never could wrap my head around racism, xenophobia, and other forms of prejudice. It always frustrated me to no end and had me pulling my hair out like a mad man. Who knew the solution to understanding was so simple. All I had to do was turn things around. In order to understand the person holding the gun, I needed to know what it felt like to have my finger on the trigger.

I spent the day doing research on the origins of all kinds of prejudices. As more truth came forward, more angry knots in my soul loosened. Even though none of the actions were justified, it all made sense. The causes and effects that led to these hateful mindsets made sense. And I noticed that they all had a common element: fear of change.

“Jenny, you’ve got a visitor,” William said as he poked his head in the doorway.

I followed him to the front room where Marty stood, waiting for me.

He smiled “Hey Jean,” he said “You left your jacket at our place so…”

“Ah, thank you!” I swiped the blue garment from his arms in relief.

“I thought about waiting until we meet up for school tomorrow,” he explained “But I figured you might need it during class.”

“Aww,” William cooed “What a nice boyfriend you’ve got, Jenny. I’m proud of you.”

Both Marty and I gasped and choked in surprise. Though, Marty’s response came out as more of a laugh.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” I scolded.

“Y-Yeah, if anything, she likes my brother,” said Marty.

Now my shock was directed towards him “What?!”

“Tch, you’re kidding,” remarked William “Pretty sure my sister’s a dyke. She’s hot for the Asian chick next door.”

“Wait, what?”

“Guys!”

William laughed at my attempt to stop the two of them from casually discussing my crushes right in front of me.

Marty nervously scratched at his cheek “Hey man…you really shouldn’t say “dyke”. It’s a slur,” he clearly wanted to declare his correction, but also didn’t want to disregard my demand for silence from the both of them.

William gave a dismissive snort “Tch, whatever.”

Now the air was tense, or at least, more tense than it already was. So I decided to end it.

“I don’t have a crush on anyone, and I’m not dating anyone,” I said.

William outright laughed while Marty bite back a smile and a small “Sorry…”

“Thanks for the jacket, Marty,” I said “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No problem,” he said as he turned to leave “Later.”

He left, closing the door behind him. Now it was just William and I.

It seemed that the both of us were expecting some extension of the conversation.

“I didn’t believe you were dating anyone in the first place,” he said.

Yup. There it was.

I sighed and went back to my room.


	11. Everyone is a Nerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really recommend looking up pictures of Alois and other fictional characters mentioned here if you haven’t already.

 

The day had finally come. The day of the anime convention had arrived. With my homebody lifestyle, I was almost terrified to go. I lived the dictionary definition of a recluse; I stayed at home and generally avoided people. Though, from how the media portrays recluses, no one would suspect that of me. When people think of of recluse, they usually think of an unkempt, nervous wreck with a stutter. If you ask me, that image is more accurate if applied to a drug addict. Even agoraphobics don’t fit into that description.

Even though I’ve gotten more social since we moved Auburn City, big social events like this convention still shake me to my core. I’ve never been to a convention, but I’ve seen enough pictures to know how wild they can be. Even going to bed that night, I thought to myself “ _Let’s just get this over with._ ” These thoughts of dread ultimately converted into guilt upon meeting up with Noah for the final time.

He was ecstatic to have completed the cosplay, and honestly, it was beautiful. He said he wouldn’t be able to go because he had work, so he encouraged us to take a lot of pictures. Dreading an event that someone else wished to attend made me feel like an ingrate. As if I wasn’t appreciating the opportunity presented before me.The luxury to have a costume handmade for me so that I could go to a convention was an honest to God blessing. I should have been indulging in joy and anticipation. But no, I was biting my nails at three in the morning hoping that the sun wouldn’t come up.

* * *

I had put on the outfit and make up according to Noah’s instructions. Unlike what I had suspected, the outfit wasn’t uncomfortable and scratchy like the average Halloween costume. It actually felt like I was wearing fancy—but otherwise normal—clothes.

It was interesting being dressed as a male character whose outfit emphasized the lower half of my body. Alois’ character wore black micro shorts, thigh-high stockings, and heeled knee boots. Naturally, this didn’t stand out on a preteen boy’s lanky figure, especially considering the time era made it normal for men to dress in a more prim and proper fashion. But I wasn’t a European boy in the late 1800’s. I had curves and this outfit showed it.

I don’t know when it happened, but I found my previous apprehensions had left me and were replaced with a sense of elation. Whether that was from how successful this cosplay was or from the interesting feeling of wearing androgynous clothes, I didn’t know.

“Girl, you look good!”

On the other side of the room, Imani was still getting dressed in her cosplay, which was more intricate since her character was a literal dragon maid.

“Thanks!” I replied “We’d make a great crossover spinoff, huh? Instead of Black Butler, we’d have Black Maid.”

Imani struck a pose that would have been otherwise cheesy if done by someone else. Although I hadn’t watched the anime, I knew that she was dressed as Tohru from Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid. It really was a perfect match considering Tohru’s hair was a golden orange color with magenta tips, just like the ends of Imani’s hair. She really did look like a black version of the woman.

“Save the poses for when we get there,” I requested “Noah wants pictures.”

* * *

At first, the long lines to the convention brought my apprehension back for a brief moment. Waiting in line was never a good feeling. I could only point to years of hearing “single file line!” yelled over my head by irate teachers for explanation. Of course, this wasn’t school, but the same urge to groan came and went.

Luckily, Imani was at my side the entire time. Whether she knew it or not, her idle chatter calmed my nerves significantly. When there were holes of silence in the conversation that went on longer than anyone wanted, she would pull out her cell phone and beckon me closer so that we could watch a funny video or two. Before I knew it, we were inside.

I had read up on conventions and looked at videos of what happens in them, so I wasn’t too surprised by the open space, silly behavior, and the panels. I noticed that the people present were most likely tourists to Auburn City. Ever since moving out here, I had not seen a single white face. However, this convention was filled with them. It was surreal, but also somewhat intimidating. I felt like Imani and I stood out like sore thumbs.

Just as that thought crossed my mind, the girl took my hand “Well, let’s get started.”

* * *

Imani had only been to anime conventions twice before. Still, when we were planning our trip the weeks prior, I requested that she give me her own “Beginner’s Tour”. In other words, I wanted her to guide me on the route that was the best for someone who’s only dipped their toe in the pool of anime culture.

She told me that we were already doing two of the biggest things, which was cosplaying and taking pictures of cosplayers. This was apparently one of the most common openings to meeting people, which was basically what a convention was: a giant meet and greet.

When I started approaching a panel, Imani advised against it since only people who have enjoyed years of anime can really get genuine satisfaction out of meeting the people who work on them. In hindsight, she was right. I liked Black Butler, but I couldn’t care less about the staff behind it. It sorta ruined the magic.

We ended up playing a lot of games and dancing in this sort of club we just so happened to walk by. I never realized that I even had the capability to dance like that. It was either Imani’s vibrant charisma rubbing off on me or my self-confidence getting a boost up.

When we left the club to take a breather, two guys noticed us walk by.

“Whoa! A bonafide _shota_!” beamed the tall boy.

I nervously chuckled as they approached us. I had grown familiar with what that term meant ever since I started reading Black Butler. From what I had gathered, a _shota_ was a male character who looked much younger than he actually was. Though, I wasn’t sure Ciel or Alois counted since they actually looked like the preteens they were. If a _shota_ was just a young boy, why even come up with a new term for it?

“No way, dude. I think it’s a reverse trap,” said the other boy.

That, too, was a word I had become familiar with. After two particular scenes in which Ciel and Alois had dressed as girls, fans began calling them traps. It was basically meant to say “Hey! You tricked me into thinking I had fallen in love with a beautiful girl, but you’re actually a boy!”

I felt Imani hedge closer behind me. She wasn’t a fan of the word. She said it was disrespectful towards transgirls and femme-representing boys. I had never noticed it before, but she made a valid point.

“ _I love anime_ ,” she had told me “ _But it’s little things like that piss me off: the clunky gender roles, female characters getting the short end of the stick, queer characters getting made fun of. That sorta stuff._ ”

It really impressed me. I knew that Imani was aware of political correctness in terms of racism and sexism, but I didn’t know that she was aware of LGBTQ+ topics. I had grown so used to heteronormativity in the black community that I never expected to find anyone here that actually gave a damn about these things.

“Ah, no I’m a boy,” I nervously said, clearing my throat “Seriously.”

Luckily, my voice held just enough ethnic bass to sound like a grown black woman or a young black man.

I could hear Imani start to say something, but she was cut off but the tall boy’s “Told ya!” directed towards his friend. He then pulled out his camera “Mind if I take your picture?”

I was surprised. That’s the question I had been asking other cosplays, but oddly enough, I never thought to be on the receiving end. I could even feel the temperature in my face rise a bit “No-not at all,” I then awkwardly made the most in-character pose I could think of “How’s this?”

“Great,” the boy’s finger bounced on his camera as he snapped a few photos.

I must have really pulled off the _bishounen_ look because after that guy took his pictures, dozens of girls started to request the same thing within a matter of minutes.

Imani and I hadn’t even roamed too far from the club when it started.

The attention went straight to my pride after I had gotten over my initial flustered feelings. Some of the girls that took pictures with me were in cosplay, themselves. I don’t know what I would have done if any of the more scantily clad cosplaying girls were to pose with me.

At some point, Imani stepped in excitedly and whispered “Yo, I just saw my favorite artist walk by! I’ve gotta check him out!”

I could tell that she was asking permission to leave me alone. She was bouncing in her heels like a hyper child.

“Go for it,” I encouraged her “I’ll stay right here for you.”

Imani’s plush dragon tail whipped my ankle as she zoomed in the opposite direction. I couldn’t help but laugh aloud. She, of course, couldn’t actually run in such a crowded place, especially with her dress shoes. Instead, she did a sort of light job merged with a skip. In that moment, she really did look in-character.

“Excuse me, may I take your…”

The voice behind me trailed off, but I knew what she was going to ask.

“Sure, I—“ My breath hitched as I turned around, unable to fathom what I was looking at.

There stood Miranda looking just as surprised as I was. Dozens of bags lined her arms like hangers in a closet. The silver cellphone in her hand held a small cat charm that swung back and forth from her motion.

“Je-Jean…?” the woman gasped “Is that you?”

As if she hadn’t even spoken, I stammered “Miranda?!”

“Wait, you cosplay?” the woman asked.

“Yeah, I mean no, I mean…” I stuttered “This is my first time going to a convention. Is this yours, too?”

“I’ve been going to cons for years!” she laughed “Man, it looks like our little anime discussion really left an impact.”

“Ah, well, Imani got me into it,” I said “And when Marty’s brother offered to make the outfit for me, there was no way I could refuse.”

Miranda’s eyes bounced in intrigue “Someone _made_ that for you?” she asked, leaning in a bit to further admire my attire “It looks incredible.”

“Thanks,” I said “I’ll be sure to tell him you said so.”

We took our pictures and discussed our adventures so far. Most of it was me inquiring about Miranda’s purchases, which turned out to be merchandise that she planned to decorate her home with. I thought back to that Rilakkuma piece that I saw in her house that one day.

“Tch, I’m sure this looks pretty stereotypical,” she snorted with a shrug “A Japanese woman going to an anime convention.”

“You’re Japanese?” I then quickly said something that I deemed more appropriate “Oh, well there’s nothing wrong with that! It’s what you like.”

Miranda smiled “Yeah, it’s kinda funny,” she said “Even though anime is pretty much just mainstream entertainment that’s gone worldwide, I feel like it gives me a small taste of my heritage.”

Like everything the woman said, her tone was casual, but the way her eyes glazed over the sights around us looked oddly blissful and content.

“Really?” I questioned, unsure how to continue “I would think that, y’know, your family would be the ones to teach you about your heritage.”

Miranda looked back at me “My family never did that,” she said “I come from a long line of Japanese-Americans. According to my mom, my great-great grandparents were the type of immigrants who didn’t hesitate to let go of their culture and assimilate into American standards.”

I swallowed. Even though Miranda was clearly unfazed by this, the topic still felt heavy and almost sad.

“I’m sorry about that…” I didn’t really know what else to say.

The woman looked surprised “For what? It’s not a real bummer,” she told me “While it would’ve been pretty cool to learn about where I come from, I’m not mad about it.”

I still felt a twinge of melancholy. Growing up, both of my parents taught me about their people’s history and our family’s stories. That’s what catalyzed my thirst for political knowledge and social justice in the first place. To even imagine having that being taken away from me is unfathomable.

Miranda adjusted one of the bags on her arms that was slipping off “I’m taking Asian Studies in college.”

I lifted my head from my cloud of thoughts “Really?”

She nodded “I figured that now that I’m an adult, it’s my job to educate myself on my own history, y’know?” she commented “It’s hard to keep up with, but it’s still pretty neat,” she chuckled “And it definitely puts older anime like Inuyasha into context.”

I shared the laugh with her, thinking to myself “ _I’m so glad the sun came up today._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take Jean’s definition of shota with a grain of salt. S/he’s going off of his/her own assumptions, which means s/he doesn’t know that dark side of the word.


	12. Right? Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story will discuss sexuality, but there won’t be any actual sex scenes.

 

[ _For the last time, trans people can be included in porn without their trans identities being fetishized. You guys act like trans people can’t be consenting adults that get naked or have sex._ ]

After reading over the text again for any errors, I clicked the blue “Post” button at the bottom of the box before it disappeared.

I had woken up from my nap to yet another message in my ask box accusing me of fetishizing trans people after I reblogged a photoset of a trans man in lingerie. Naturally, this was all on my side blog, reserved specifically for “not safe for work” content, yet still, the aspiring “progressive” Tumblr users found a reason to label me as problematic.

I knew as soon as I hit that “Post” button that my answer would just be met with flat-out denial or some bullshit explanation. Ironically enough, I never see these kinds of reactions from actual trans people. I mean, that trans man posed for the photos in his own home and posted the pictures on his own blog, and judging by his tags, he was pretty proud of his work. The only people who seemed to have a problem with it were Tumblr users who saw trans people more as glass works of art than actual people. Yet, here they are trying to set limitations of trans people, themselves.

“ _Why do I come to this hellsite?_ ” I thought, considering deleting my account for probably the millionth time “ _Well, where else am I going to find actually good quality porn without horrible acting, ads, and pop-ups?_ ”

I felt a little bad for just thinking that. For some reason, thinking about anything lewd always made me feel like a sleazy pervert. I knew it was normal to think those things, especially now that I’m an adult, but I guess it’s because I’m used to being seen as innocent, in a way. With my stature and introverted personality, even strangers sometimes felt the need to approach me with a certain level of gentleness. I always noticed it; the way a stern man’s brow would lift into a light-hearted expression, the way a woman’s voice with jump up in pitch. 

I never minded it, in fact, I appreciated it. To see someone take that level of kindness to make me feel more comfortable was sweet, to say the least (If Tumblr learned to treat people gently based on their demeanor rather than their gender identity, it would probably be a much more healthy community). I guess that’s why when I have indecent thoughts, I feel wrong, as if I’m betraying those people’s kindness.

“ _I’m an adult, though, a legal adult_ ,” I told myself “ _So it’s okay to feel this way, right? It’s okay to feel this way towards another adult, right?_ ”

* * *

Winter hit hard and fast. One day, the weather was decently cool with a minor breeze, the next, the city was blanketed with snow. It was interesting to see how the city handled the snow and harsh winds as opposed to the usually quiet suburbs. Seeing the snow go undisturbed back at home was somewhat depressing. It made our town look like a wasteland, and the silence was downright eerie. At least here, I would get to see the kids and people’s pets play around in the snow. Sometimes I would even see the occasional adult do something silly with the new weather.

I blinked rapidly as snow started collecting on my eyelashes. Beside me, Imani was taking advantage of the harsh wind blowing against us and started reenacting a  _very_  iconic scene from Spongebob.

“The Krusty Krab Pizza, is the pizza, for you and me!” she sang despite clearly struggling to trudge through the snow.

“Oh no, not this…” murmured Marty, a smile creeping over the scarf covering his face.

I joined in, too, gaining strange looks from people as we walked by and reached new levels of absurdity.

“The Krusty Krab Pizza, is the pizza, free deliver-y! The Krusty Krab Pizza, is the pizza, very ta-asty!”

Eventually, Marty pulled out his phone and started filming us for his Snapchat, to which neither of us protested. If anything, we just sang with more soul than before now that we had a potential audience.

We sounded like genuine gospel singers instead of just two screaming teenagers, and I would definitely know the difference, having attended church many times.

“Is the pizza, yeah, for you and…”

“Mee-hee-yee-hee!”

Both of us were somewhat out of breath from holding that high note while walking, and the frigid, thin air didn’t help either.

“How did I befriend you two nerds?” mumbled Marty as he typed a message to the video.

“ _Very_ , very good luck,” Imani bragged.

As we approached the school, I bumped into someone.

“Oh, sor—“ before I could get out my apology, I locked eyes with a disgusted pair.

It didn’t hit me immediately that it was Jamaal, but it was clear that he was already in a familiar foul mood. It was the type of mood everyone experiences more than enough times in their life when they have to go to work or school during a snowy morning. It seems like seeing me just added to his irritation.

“Painfully awkward” was the only way I could describe how I felt. Still, I was the one who bumped into him because I wasn’t paying attention, so I gave a simple “My bad,” before continuing on.

Thankfully, he didn’t make a scene out of it and he was quickly forgotten.

At least, that’s how I’d like to believe that morning went.

My arms were nearly elbow deep in my locker when I heard his voice ask “S’you going out with Imani?”

With almost comedic timing, I nearly dropped my books directly onto my booted toes in response. Half of my surprise was from hearing his voice after nearly a month and a half of silent snubbing. The other half came from the mere concept of dating my best friend.

“No…! No,” I stuttered, getting a better grip on my books.

“But I thought you were a lesbian.”

“I never said that.”

“So you straight?”

“Th-that’s none of your business…”

Why didn’t I just say no? What was so hard about a little white lie to save face?

“ _Lying about who you’d sleep with isn’t exactly a little or white lie_ ,” that annoying voice in my mind argued. Damn conscience.

Jamaal didn’t speak for a moment. His usual cockiness seemed completely absent. Those few seconds felt so wrong, I actually worried he was going to get sick.

“So who  _are_  you dating? Is it that Marty guy?”

“No, those two are my best friends,” my tone came out fatigued and quick. Honestly, why was he so fixated on me? He had tons of friends and a following of girls willing to give him all of their affections.

“So you not dating  _anybody_.”

The look of eagerness flickered like lightening in his eyes.

Oh no. No, no.

“Dude, just stop,” I stated firmly “You’re not my dad; my dating life’s not your business.”

Jamaal gave an almost nervous chuckle “Hey, we’re just talking!”

“Maybe if we were friends, but we’re not even that,” I said “You lost that chance the first time we met.”

Jamaal frowned up in bewilderment. He looked genuinely thrown off, as if he’s never witnessed anything like this. When I think about it now, he probably hadn’t. Rejection was a foreign concept to people like him. Even though it wasn’t fair to lump him in with a stereotype, it was still a possibility.

“What’d I do wrong?!” he spat out.

I grit my teeth in frustration. Was he really so ignorant? I thought people like this only existed in those clearly scripted “reality” TV shows. Apparently I was wrong.

“You harassed me over the fact that I wouldn’t date you!” I scolded.

Jamaal gave a dismissive click of his tongue “Tch, y’all females wanna call everything harassment! If I say “hi” it’s harassment. If I tap your shoulder, it’s harassment—”

“You tore off my clothes,” I didn’t realize that my voice had taken on such a dominant tone “And for what? Because I didn’t answer your question? Do you know how  _embarrassed_  I was?!”

People looked at me, but not with the same intrigued stare as kids witnessing a fight. No, it was the look the principal earned when they suddenly demanded their students’ attention. It was a look of concern, not entertainment.

“I have reasons for not wanting people to see my body; reasons no one in this goddamn school would understand! And you didn’t give a damn…” my voice lowered back down to a normal volume “You know, I was too forgiving, not reporting you. I totally could have, but knowing society, they’ll probably just say you’re “too good of a student to do something so horrible.””

I sighed, feeling a weight lifted off of my shoulders despite all of the wide eyes staring at me. I wasn’t wrong. If anything, the man before me was the one who should be humiliated, not me.

I closed my locker and picked up my things “You’re so lucky it wasn’t actual rape.”

I didn’t say it loud enough for the witnesses to hear, but Jamaal caught it. Sweat beads had formed on his forehead.

I kept my face firm and resisted the urge to smile as I walked away.

* * *

With no homework, I decided to spend another afternoon hanging out with Miranda.

When she answered the door, my heart leaped up into my throat.

Her jet black hair was now cut in an asymmetrical pixie cut. Her left ear was now visible, showing blocky silver piercings and the true strength of her jawline.

It must have been obvious that I almost missed her greeting, because she turned with an almost prideful smile and said “I take it you like my haircut.”

“Y-Yeah, it’s pretty sharp!” I complimented.

Miranda chuckled “Thanks, now I know I made the right decision. I trust you since your fashion sense is pretty on point.”

If I wasn’t blushing before, I was now. As I stuttered out a bashful thanks, I wondered how a haircut and simple flattery was enough to make me swoon. I also wondered if Miranda’s subtle smirk was her doing this on purpose, or me being laughably awkward.

As usual, we flowed into natural conversation that swung from deep topics to lighthearted jokes with ease. Around dinnertime, we ordered takeout from the Chinese restaurant nearby. It was run by a close-knit family from China, so not only was their food authentic, but their chemistry was beautiful. Just being there brought a smile to my face.

Miranda opted to go pick up the food, herself, instead of getting delivery because she didn’t take too kindly to being cooped up in the house. Since she was no longer free to play any outdoor sports, she had essentially gotten cabin fever.

“Wii Sports just doesn’t fill the need,” she said, putting on her leather jacket “The walk through two feet of snow to the gym is almost worth it.”

“Seriously?” I asked, imagining the hassle.

“Anything to break a sweat,” Miranda said “I’m, by no means, a fitness buff or a health guru, but running around and competing with the guys on campus is my favorite pastime. Heh, it seems to really piss off the jocks.”

She ended that with a sort of dignified laugh just before she left the apartment.

“ _Now’s the perfect time to do what all characters in TV dramas do, and snoop around…not_ ,” I thought with a giggle as I fell back on Miranda’s couch.

* * *

Miranda was uniquely attractive. Her butch features were alluring in a way that would be different if she were a man. Her womanhood mixed with her masculine traits gave her a majestic and strong look. Even her voice held a subtle edge that gave me goosebumps at times.

I noticed that lately, her clothes seemed to take on a more evolved appearance. When I first met her, she only wore simple shorts and T-shirts. Now her outfits followed more solid color schemes, and her clothes complemented her figure. They still fell into the butch category, but now she almost looked akin to a biker.

As if she had read my mind, Miranda said “You know, when you said someone made the cosplay for you, it reminded me of a friend that I had back in grade school. He was really into fashion and he would fuel my little cosplay addiction.”

“Really now?” Had I not seen her at the convention that day, I would have been much more surprised at the idea of her cosplaying.

“In fact, now that I’ve brought it up, I still have a lot of old cosplay outfits that would probably fit you,” her eyes perked up as she spoke “Would you like to try some? I think you’d really like them.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious. My knees were already itching to push me up as soon as I said yes.

I followed Miranda towards her bedroom closet as she continued to talk about this childhood friend “He was really into feminine clothes, and I was into masculine clothes. Since we were too young to choose our own clothes, we would often trade after school. Sometimes I wonder if he’s still as into femme fashion as he was back then, or if, for him, it was all just a phase.”

A hint of sadness dipped in those last words. She must have really missed this friend, or the memories he brought.

Miranda laid out the multitudes of ensembles across her bed. Miranda was only two years older than me, but I was still significantly smaller than her. The outfits were probably from when she was in her early teen years, but they weren’t so old that I didn’t recognize what anime they came from.

“The living room would be the best place to take pictures since the lighting is so much better,” she said as I tried to pick an outfit “I may dress up, myself, and take some pictures with you.”

“Sounds fine by me,” I chirped “I think I’ve gotten pretty acclimated to the camera!”

“Any form of modeling will do that to you. Sometimes, we just need to get dressed as our best selves and appreciate our own beauty.”

As she said that, I started to take off my shirt, but by the time my stomach was exposed, I froze. My skin suddenly felt like it was on ice when the air hit it.

“ _No…I thought it was over_ … _I thought I fixed it_.”

I don’t understand. Just this morning, I was laughing and goofing around with my friends. Today, I faced Jamaal and told him off in front of the whole school. I won. I had resolved the issue. What happened that day behind the school had no power over me. Besides, I was never even raped or felt up. If anything, I was lucky, right? It could have been so much worse.

So why couldn’t I take off my shirt in front of Miranda?

Why did I wear extra layers under my clothes everyday?

Why did I change in the bathroom stalls instead of the locker room at school?

“Hey, is something the matter?”

Miranda’s words shattered through my twisted thoughts.

I swallowed, putting my shirt back down and adjusting the undershirt beneath it.

“I…I don’t think I can do this…” I murmured.

I heard Miranda put down the clothes in her hands and approach me, yet I still flinched when her hand grazed my shoulder.

Her immediate response was “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

Guilt settled in the pit of my stomach. None of this was her fault. If anything, it was mine. I was ruining our good time. I couldn’t get over something so small. I was the one who incited the whole thing. I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut.

“Jean, it’s okay, I’m here…”

I was crying. Miranda’s arms wrapped around me as she held me close to her bosom. I wasn’t sobbing, or making any noise short of a weak wheeze. I felt so stupid, like some pitiful damsel.

Honestly, what the hell was wrong with me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really not a big fan of promos, but I’d really appreciate it if you guys could check out Fleur Girls, Real Life Vocaloid, or W.I.N.G.S. Those are my biggest and most important stories. They all have diverse casts including LGBTQ+ and PoC characters with much deeper arcs and relationships. They may not have as many in-your-face political messages as Caught, but I think that if you like this, you’d like these other three stories even more. It’s just a suggestion, but I would greatly appreciate it if you checked them out. Thank you!


	13. The Closet Isn't Meant for Everyone

I told Miranda everything.

Not just about Jamaal, but about my gender, my joke of a sexuality, and how I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

She didn’t react the way Marty and Noah did, heated and jumping at every statement I made, but it was clear that she felt the same emotions: disgust towards Jamaal, understanding towards my queer identity, condolence for the trouble I just kept bringing upon myself.

“I just keep screwing up,” I moaned “Literally all of my problems wouldn’t exist if I just learned to lie. I could so easily cis-pass and straight-pass without even trying.”

“But you won’t.”

Miranda’s simple three words felt heavy to me—accusatory, even—but her face showed that they weren’t heavy at all for her.

“That takes courage,” she paused, her eyes scanning an empty space off to the side “Courage that I wish I had growing up.”

I blinked in bemusement, some of my previous tears smearing across my eyelashes in the process “Wait, you mean…?”

Miranda nodded “I’m polysexual,” a sort of brief laugh escaped her lips “Hey, you’re the first person I’ve ever told.”

A feeling of surrealism passed through my body, not just from meeting another queer person in real life, but from knowing that this fully functioning adult has never come out to anyone…but me.

Miranda seemed to exude self-assurance and proficiency. As childish as it may have sounded, I nearly saw her as perfect. I could never see someone as herself being closeted.

“…Not even your parents?” I started again, realizing that only half of my question left my thoughts “I mean, you haven’t told anyone? Not even your parents?”

Miranda sighed through her nose “I didn’t wanna rock the boat even more,” she said “We were already pretty alienated being the only Japanese-American family in a neighborhood of primarily Chinese immigrants.”

Miranda halted at my confused expression and added “We weren’t seen as “Asian enough”. They said we were “practically white Americans”,” she chuckled almost bitterly “They even called us dumb names like Twinkies and bananas.”

Again, prompted by my nonverbal confusion, Miranda explained “Yellow on the outside; white on the inside.”

My mind immediately flashed back to when I was in grade school, “Kids used to call me an Oreo,” I sighed “Not because I’m half-white, but because I didn’t “act black enough” for them.”

I rolled my fingers in air quotes and Miranda seemed to shake her head lightly at the foreign concept.

“Everyone was sure you had to fit black stereotypes, back then. Either you were a gangster, a hiphop diva, or you just weren’t black,” I resisted the urge to say “ _Just like the gender binary, you were only allowed to be one or the other._ ”

“What about now?” asked Miranda “Is it still like that in your high school?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but then stopped when I reconsidered it “Actually, no. Everyone’s pretty diverse and more open-minded, now that I think about it.”

Miranda quirked a brow “What about that boy Jamaal?”

“Well, open-minded in terms of not policing black behavior, y’know what I mean?” I excused “I still think topics like sexuality and gender makes them squirm a bit.”

“Communities of color tend to be less lenient of the LGBTQ, I’ve noticed,” Miranda said.

There was another pause, a moment to let everything rest. The muffled sounds of the television could be heard in the other room. The falling snow outside the window gave the home a feeling of insulation akin to being tucked into bed. Miranda’s home was very cozy, I realized.

“So, you felt like you couldn’t come out to your parents because of the internalized racism in your neighborhood?” the question was out of place and awkward, but it was on my mind.

“Well, that was just added pressure to the real cause,” said Miranda “My parents also got a lot of flack for letting me be masculine and essentially letting me wear boy’s clothes. People said they were raising me to be a lesbian or trans to look like “trendy, progressive parents”,” Miranda crossed her arms, the memory clearly making her uncomfortable “I just…didn’t want to prove those people right. I didn’t want my parents to look bad. So I told myself for years that I was straight.”

Miranda looked back at me and then shrugged “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this about me.”

“No, no, it’s okay!” I reassured her, almost too eagerly.

“I just wanted to let you know that you’re not wrong for being truthful about your identity,” Miranda continued as if I hadn’t spoken “I know it may not seem like it now, but trust me. Living unapologetically as who you are is one of the best things you could do.”

There was a subtle passion in her statement. It took time for it to fully register in my mind, almost like watching a clip of a flower bloom.

“I…really?” I mustered.

“Yes,” declared Miranda “People may try to make you feel guilty for your differences, saying that you’ve offended them or made them uncomfortable. That’s just a fault on their part, not yours.”

I opened and closed my mouth in failed attempts to speak. What she said had answered any and all questions quelling inside of me.

Although she was right, that didn’t lift my mood. Even if stepping out of the closet was the honorable thing to do, that didn’t erase all of the stress and anxiety that came with it.

“It’s hard out here for people like us,” Miranda said “I can’t change a homophobe or a transphobe into a decent human being, but I’m here if you need to vent.”

I sniffed and flicked the last tear that refused to dry up from my eye “Thank you…”

I went home completely calm and took the evening step by step at my own even pace. I sat down and ate dinner, exchanging bland, heedless words with my family. I took my time in washing myself up for the night, treating even brushing my teeth as a sort of spa treatment.

As soon as I slipped into bed, my shoulders relaxed and my body seemed to drift by with a dreamlike weightlessness. It’s as if those tears I had cried earlier carried the weight of an elephant.

It was when I went to bed that I finally realized what was different.

I had let my guard down.

* * *

“Jenny? What are these?”

I looked up from my homework to see Mama holding up one of my binders between her manicured fingers. I hadn’t noticed that she had been folding laundry as she sat on the couch across from me. Usually, I was the one to take the initiative of doing the laundry for this _exact_ reason.

Before I got started on my homework that afternoon, I tossed the last load into the dryer and started a new one in the washing machine. And, like someone with over twenty years of experience as a housewife, Mama finished up the job where I left off.

“Are these sports bras?” she then murmured “They’re kinda ugly…”

Of course, Daddy didn’t flinch since he’s long passed the “my daughter is now a woman” phase when I had my first period in his car seat. William, however, grimaced.

“Y-Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled.

I expected a question concerning my nonexistent workout routine, or if I changed into a sports bra for gym class. I could handle a little white lie like that, especially since I wasn’t willing to discuss binding my breasts in front of my dad and brother, but neither of those questions came from Mama’s mouth.

Instead, the corners of Mama’s lips curled up and she lifted her head up in a sort of laugh “I knew I wasn’t seeing things.”

Before I could ask what she meant, Mama said “It seemed like some days, you’d be completely flat, and other days you’d be a normal B cup.”

Daddy subdued a chuckle, brushing his fingers over his lips. If this really was a normal conversation about a cisgirl who was insecure about her bust, it would be pretty funny to me, too. But because this was an entirely different scenario, I sat there sweating bullets.

Mama gave an almost sad expression at my discomfort “Oh Jenny, why would you wanna cover up your breasts? They’re just fine the way they are.”

I almost felt bad because for how genuinely concerned she sounded. She always had a soft spot for topics relating to female puberty and growing up as a woman. Mama has shared the misadventures, embarrassments, and insecurities she had when she was a teenager. It was one of the most intimate moments the two of us could have, only I could only relate fifty-percent of the time.

William groaned, pinching the space between his brow “It’s because she’s still on that transgender crap.”

The beginnings of a “ _goddammit_ ” hissed past my throat, and now even Daddy tore away his gaze from the TV to get involved in the discussion.

“You still want to be a boy?” he asked, all traces of his previous laughter replaced with mild horror.

“No! I mean, only sometimes.”

The living room gave to a collective sigh.

“Jenny, you are a grown woman. I don’t know why you wanna be a boy, but you…” and Mama went into another lecture joined by Daddy. I wish I could say I had gotten better at ignoring them, but it still chips away at my heart sometimes. It’s not as easy as slapping on a “haters gonna hate” attitude and rolling with it. In fact, the older I get, the more I start to think that phrase is just a way to pretend you’re not hurt.

The scolding picked up when Daddy found a pair of my boxer-briefs poking out from one of the holes in the hamper.

“Okay Jenny, _this_ is just creepy,” he said after he and the others got finished with their “ _What?!_ ” and “ _What is this?!_ ” exclamations “You’re a woman wearing men’s underwear. That’s like, that’s like some kind of fetish…”

At that point, my face was as hot as an iron. I was so humiliated by this entire scolding that I haven’t been able to say anything in retaliation. Only now did I have something to say.

“B-Being bigender is _not_ a fetish! You guys are just making it sound like it is.”

“Then why did you keep it a secret?”

“Cuz I knew you guys would react this way!” I resisted the urge to pull my hoodie over my head like some kind of protective blanket “You guys can hardly look at a gay person without having to make fun of them. How was I supposed to tell you I feel like I’m in the wrong body half of the time?” 

Mama sighed, picking up on the vulnerability I let slip through my voice “Jenny, you’re being too dramatic about all of this,” she soothed “I think you’re just feeling a bit insecure about your womanhood because you’re a tomboy.”

“No, Mama…that’s not it…”

“Your mom’s got the right idea,” chimed in Daddy as if they had just solved a great mystery “Come on, let’s get rid of these…”bounders” and briefs and forget about all of this.”

That idea got me to all but jump out of my seat “N-no, wait!” I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding “Please, don’t throw them away. I know you don’t understand any of this, and I sound absolutely crazy to you, but…”

But what? What argument could I give them that I hadn’t already given a thousand times before? No matter how solid of a claim you make, it means nothing if your opponent can just outright deny it or say they don’t understand. That’s how you have people who don’t believe in global warming. That’s how you have people who deny the Holocaust. Ignorance and denial erase all logic.

“I’m a legal adult now, and my body is my own. I should be allowed to decide what I wear.”

But with just those two sentences, I could negate that obstacle.

Mama and Daddy stammered and fumbled portions of claims only to have them whither away in their throats.

You admonish kids when they misbehave and do things that are overall weird, but when that kid grows up, the only things you admonish them for are adult mistakes: crashing the car, doing drugs, having an unplanned pregnancy.

I haven’t even done so much as fail an exam.

Mama threw her hands up, letting them clap on her thighs in resignation “I don’t get it.”

“I’ve heard some crazy parenting stories, but I’m sure this one takes the cake,” Daddy laughed, running his hand over his face “I’m leaving this to you, honey, because this seems like a girl’s problem.”

Mama chuckled, shaking her head “Alright Jenny,” she said “We’re gonna let you keep this stuff until this phase passes by. Just…don’t do anything permanent.”

I held my heart clench as a breath of relief escaped me “Thank you…”

My parents continued to poke fun at me and the oddity of the situation, but I honestly couldn’t be more grateful. Maybe it was because I was an adult. Maybe it was because they were just tired of repeating their arguments, too. Maybe they really had disillusioned themselves into thinking this really was all just a phase. Whatever it was, I was satisfied with invalidating jeers as opposed to the verbal and physical lashings I used to endure.

It wasn’t a one-eighty heel-turn, that was for damn sure. My parents could still be mean and harsh, but lately, they’ve been extending the leash they had me on. It was a give and take: as I took on more responsibilities, they gave me more freedom. Of course, that didn’t mean that I was exempt from insults on what I do with that freedom.

This made me giddy in a way. No, I wasn’t respected as well as I would’ve liked, but it was a start. It was something.

* * *

**_Noah:_ ** _You guys look SO cute in your cosplay! (heart emoji)(sparkle emoji)(heart emoji)_

**_Noah:_ ** _Hey Jean, I know the girl dressed as Tohru is Imani, but who’s the woman in the last picture?_

**_Noah:_ ** _Did she come to con with you or…?_

**_Noah:_ ** _Do you know her?_

**_Noah:_ ** _I feel like I’ve seen her before…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had initially planned for this story to be set in the year 2024, but I started this story back in 2014 when being LGBTQ+ was still really taboo. I honestly did not expect that to change so drastically during 2016-17. So I’m gonna go back and change Imani’s quote so that she says “It’s 2014,” instead.


End file.
